Handcuffs and High Heels
by CrystalSelkie
Summary: What if our favorite charming conman... was a conwoman instead? Caffrey is still just as witty and charming - and as much a thorn in Peter's side - as ever. An AU White Collar retelling with a genderbent Neal, episodes 1-7.
1. The Cat and the Mouse

Summary: What if our favorite charming conman... was a con_woman_ instead? Caffrey is still just as witty and charming - and as much a thorn in Peter's side - as ever. An AU White Collar retelling with a genderbent Neal.

_So, I got the idea for this from a line in Prisoner's Dilemma where Peter remarks that Jack Franklin's relationship with his CI is the reason why Elizabeth prefers Peter working with a male CI instead. I started thinking about what would change in the series and what would stay the same if he did have a female CI. I'm sure there are plenty of gender bend stories, but I decided to write it anyway to get it out of my head, and I liked the result and decided to post it. Some characters are gender bent, most are not. It mostly follows the story, but with some additions to fill in some gaps. Hope you like it._

_-Selkie_

* * *

Chapter One

The Cat and the Mouse

"Drop three!" Peter paced. Around him, the apprehensive faces of his fellow agents mirrored his own feelings. It had taken so long to get to this exact moment in time, yet now that the moment had arrived, it seemed to stretch out endlessly. This was it, though. They had never been this close…

"Drop two." One number left. Peter could feel his heart beating in his chest… or maybe he was just imagining that. Just a few short, sharp heartbeats later, the safe technician called out the last digit as the safe's final pin clicked into place. "Drop four. All pins down. Preparing to open."

Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Finally… So many long nights spent getting to this safe, and it was as simple as 3-2-4.

Peter paused. "Three, two, four." He muttered. That was too simple. But 3-2-4. There was something…. "Three, two, four! Wait!"

He stepped toward the door, but it was too late. The technician opened the safe. There was an explosion and dust filled the air. A smoke detector went off. Without wasting a moment, Peter covered his mouth with his tie and rushed in for the technician. "Are you okay?" he called, reaching blindly for the man through the dense cloud of dust. He found him and rushed him out.

The man coughed, crouched over. He had been right in front of the safe when the explosion was triggered, and had likely breathed in a lot of the dust. He would probably need to see a doctor. And, of course, that meant even more paperwork for Peter. What had seemed like another step closer to the target ended up being another headache.

Peter was covered in the dust, and it did not want to brush of easily. The man stopped wheezing as the dust began to settle and looked around in confusion. "What happened?"

"I said 'wait.'" Peter told him. "You didn't wait." He let out a grunt of frustration. "Ten thousand man hours to get this close to the Dutchman and you blow up my evidence." Realistically, Peter knew it wasn't the technicians fault, and that he shouldn't take his frustration out on the man, but this case had been dragging on for so long, losing this one small step closer felt like a punch in the gut.

Agent Clinton Jones stepped forward. "Agent Burke, how did you know it was going to do that?" Jones was a good man, one of the best in the division. But he was still young and lacked Peter's years of experience.

"Three, two, four," Peter repeated, addressing all of the agents around him, not just Jones. "Look at your phones. What's it spell?"

Jones pulled out his cell phone. Then, looking a bit sheepish having not realized it sooner, said "Oh. FBI."

"Yeah." Peter continued dusting himself off. "FBI."

"Apparently he knew we were coming," Jones said. Peter's eyes snapped back toward him in disbelief.

"You think so, Copernicus?" he snapped. Again, it wasn't Jones' fault, but Peter couldn't help taking it out on whoever was handy. After he calmed down, he would apologize, and they would start fresh on the case. Again.

Peter pulled a shiny red fiber off his jacket and held it up. He had no idea what it was. "Somebody wanna… wanna tell me what this is?" No one answered. "Huh? Anybody?" They exchanged glances, but no one seemed to have any more clue than he did. "Nobody knows what this is? Great. Look at you. How many of you went to Harvard?" he snapped.

Several of them raised their hands. "Don't… don't raise your hands, don't," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed again, and looked once more at the agents around him. His probationary agent was making her way through the crowd toward him.

"Ah, Diana. Look at this. Apparently our boy has a sense of humor." She looked grim. Peter knew that look. That was the look she wore when she needed to tell him something he didn't want to hear. "What?" he asked, simply.

She leaned in close, and held his eyes with hers for a moment. Softly, she gave him the news. "Nora Caffrey escaped."

* * *

**Two Hours Earlier**

Getting into the staff-only bathroom was the easy part. Jim was a nice guy. A small bribe and a flirty smile was all it took for him to look the other way. "I just want to use the bathroom in private," she had lied. "It's so awkward having to… you know, _go_ in front of other people sometimes. You understand, right?"

Everything was right where she had left it. In the tank of the toilet. She didn't have much time. She put on the uniform as quickly as she could. Her hair was already braided. She pinned it up. The wig smoothed out nicely. She held up a small mirror with one hand, and straightened the wig with the other before securing it with more bobby pins.

Next was the makeup. That was the hard part, the part that took the longest. She set to work, contouring and highlighting to make her chin, forehead, and cheekbones seem more squared and masculine. She made her lips look thin and pale.

The end result was… not perfect, but would be sufficient if no one looked too close. She took one last look in the mirror and nodded. Showtime. A bell rang. She counted to twenty, and slipped out of the bathroom.

The walk, she knew, would be what would make or break her plan. She had practiced it for a month, walking with purpose, like she belonged. But, like a man. She felt like she was clumsy and lumbering, but no one spared a second glance at her as she passed, so it must not have looked too out of place.

The final obstacle was the gate. She would have to pass very closely to some other guards. She pulled a key card out of her pocket and slid it through the card reader and pushed down the twang of guilt she felt for Jim, who was going to lose his job when they realized what happened after all was said and done. There was a loud buzz, and the door popped open.

A guard on the other side caught the door and turned to face her. For what felt like an eternity, he stared at her, blocking her path. She regarded him evenly, ignoring the pounding of her heart. _Don't make me talk,_ she begged in her mind. _If I have to talk, I'm done._ Finally, he smiled and held the door open for her. She smiled back, and walked out the door.

Out in the parking lot, she took a moment to breathe. Nora Caffrey, convicted forger, and maximum security inmate… had just escaped prison.


	2. Messages

Chapter Two

Messages

Diana and Peter walked briskly as she filled him in. She handed him a file. "What's this?"

"U.S. Marshalls are requesting your help."

"My help?" he asked, confused. An escaped Nora Caffrey was the Marshalls' business, not Peter's.

"Director Thompson asked for you personally," she told him with a small smile. _Flattering_, he thought.

"Me? Why would they want me?" he asked, stopping to face his probie. She looked at him like he was clueless. Maybe he was.

"_Probably_ because you're the only one who ever caught her." Yeah… That made sense. Nora Caffrey, one of his longer and more stressful cases. In the end, Peter had caught her, but it had been a hell of a chase. A fun one too, if he was being honest.

It wasn't a hard decision to make. Peter had caught Caffrey once. He knew they way she worked and the way she thought better than any other agent. He could catch her again. The Dutchmen had waited plenty long already, he could wait a little longer.

* * *

Peter was led into the women's correctional facility, and was met immediately by the Marshalls. A tall, balding man stepped forward to greet him. "Agent Burke, I'm Thompson, U.S. Marshalls," he said, shaking Peter's hand. "Appreciate the help. You were the case agent?"

"Yes, I was."

"So you'll agree this is an unusual situation."

"Why would Nora run with three months left on a four year sentence?" Peter had been running that question through his mind endlessly from the moment Diana told him about the escape. It didn't make a lick of sense. Nora was smart, impossibly smart. What would make her do something so incredibly _stupid_?

"Well, that's what we're wondering." A door opened to Peter's right, and another man walked out. He was shorter than Thompson, with short brown hair. "This is Warden Haskley. Agent Burke, FBI."

Peter shook his hand. "So, you're the guy who dropped the ball." Warden Haskley looked taken aback for a moment, not expecting Peter to outright blame him for the escape.

He recovered quickly. "You of all people should know what Caffrey's capable of.

Peter did know. "I know I spent three years of my life chasing her, and you let her walk out the front door." Haskley looked vaguely like he tasted something sour.

Thompson stepped in before things could get worse, heading toward the door Haskley had come from. "Gentlemen, might I remind you that Caffrey has a four hour head start?" A guard opened the door, and Peter and Haskley followed him in.

Peter was lead to Caffrey's cell. "Caffrey came out of the E-block staff bathroom dressed as a guard," he said as they walked. "Where'd she get the uniform?"

"Uniform supply company on the internet," Thompson explained.

"She used a credit card?"

There was a short pause before Haskley spoke up. "She… uh, somehow managed to get a hold of my American Express..." Peter smirked to himself.

"We're tracing the number in case she tries using it again," Thompson said.

"She won't." They stopped at an open cell. Peter looked inside. He hadn't had direct contact with Nora since he testified at her trial, just four years of birthday cards she had sent. Seeing her cell was like a small trip down memory lane.

The first thing that caught his eye was the wall of meticulous tally marks, one a day for four years. They were in different colors, some black, some blue, some red. He did the math in his head. There would be about 1,300 tally marks there, give or take.

Next were the paintings and sketches. They all fell in line with her tastes and style. A small comfort, he guessed, to make the tiny, depressing cell a bit less dreary. He was surprised to see the word magnets on the wall. El had had some once that she arranged into quotes or fun sentences. Nora had arranged hers into a poem.

sleep bitter sleep

blues cooking time

there your light is barely a whisper

dream bitter dream

fiddle together

scream heave pound

music is honey

_How depressing_, Peter thought. It was somewhat incoherent, though he supposed she did the best she could with the limited words provided.

"How'd she get the key card for the gate?" he asked.

"She pick-pocketed one off a guard when she bribed him to get access into the staff bathroom. He didn't notice until she was already long gone."

Haskley sighed. "Jim is a good man. I hated having to let him go. God knows he isn't the first guard to fall for a pretty face and a seductive smile."

Peter nodded and sat down on the bed. There was a pile of books. Peter picked one up. _Truck Repair_, the title read. Peter flipped through it idly.

"She walked out the front door, hotwired a maintenance truck in the parking lot," Thompson said. "We found it abandoned near the airport."

"We beefed up security, just in case she tries to get out that way," Haskley added. _Nice precaution_, Peter thought, _but not helpful._

"Well, we're not going to catch Caffrey with roadblocks and wanted posters," he told them, placing the truck repair manual back on the bed and picking up another book. This one had a flyer marking the page. Peter pulled it out. 'Executive Services Airport Parking.' There was a picture of men in yellow jackets.

A small mirror and makeup kit was laying on top of the pile. "She used that makeup, a wig, and a chest binder to disguise herself as a man before she escaped," Haskley explained.

"Chest binder?"

"They are used to flatten a woman's chest, to make it look like she doesn't have breasts," he said. "An inmate who deals in contraband admitted to getting one for Caffrey a couple weeks ago."

* * *

"We know Caffrey has been planning this escape for about a month," Peter recapped as they sat in one of the prison's administrative offices. "I want to know everything that happened to her recently. Did she have problems with any of the other inmates?"

Haskley shook his head. "No, the other women loved her. She stayed out of trouble, made friends. Even most of the guards liked her." _Typical_, Peter thought, somewhat bitter. So what changed?

They combed through all records they could find concerning Caffrey. Peter was given a book of prisoner visitation logs. He read through it. Her name jumped out at him… from almost exactly a month and a half before. The name of the visitor did not surprise Peter. "She had a visitor."

"Kyle Moreau," Thompson read. "You know him?" He sighed. Of course it was about Kyle Moreau.

"Yeah. I do."

There was no time wasted in pulling up the security footage of Kyle's visit. The three men gathered around the monitor as the grainy, black and white video played. Nora was facing away from the camera. All Peter could see of her was her prison jumpsuit and the curly black hair that fell to the middle of her back.

Kyle sat facing the camera on the opposite side of a glass partition. He was handsome. Peter knew, despite the lack of color, that he had thick brown hair and deeply blue eyes. He had somewhat of a rounded, boyish face.

"No audio?" Peter asked.

"No."

Thompson was flipping through the log book as they watched the mute pair talking. "He comes back every week like clockwork," he said.

Peter didn't respond. That wasn't surprising to him. He was focused on the video. "Kyle isn't happy about this visit," he muttered. In the video, Kyle stood suddenly, saying something to Nora with a somber expression. Nora put her hand on the glass. It seemed desperate, like she was pleading with Kyle, reaching for him.

"How soon can we get a lip reader in here?" Thompson asked.

Peter shook his head. "I'll save you the trouble. 'Sorry, Nora, it's over.' Did he come back next week?"

"No. He never came back."

Peter sighed. He understood. "Okay. Let's find Kyle." His eyes were still fixed on the screen. Kyle walked away, but Nora stood, still clearly pleading with him. He had seen enough. He stood and headed for the door, Thompson and Haskley behind him.

* * *

She could hear the screech of tires outside. A lot of tires. Of course, it was New York City. Crime was everywhere, and screeching tires could have meant anything. But, of course, she knew they were coming for her. She didn't move. _Let them come_.

She stroked the bottle idly while she waited. She could have run, once she realized the Kyle was gone, that the trail was cold. She could have gotten away. But what was the point? Kyle, the one promise of something good that waited for her after prison, was gone and he wasn't coming back. She was tired of running.

She heard the footsteps. Only one set. Someone had come alone, before the cavalry. She didn't have to look to guess who. "I see Kyle moved out." Nora sighed, wiping a tear off her cheek. Time was up. "He leave you a message in there?" Peter Burke's voice was soft. It held genuine sympathy.

Nora took a breath before replying. "The bottle is the message." Her voice shook a little.

"It's been a while."

"Yeah," she agreed. "A few years."

"Are you carrying?" Peter stepped forward. He knew the answer before he asked.

"You know guns aren't my style."

"They asked me, what makes a girl like you make a bone-headed escape with three months left on her sentence."

"I see you figured it out," she said. There was something almost nostalgic in talking to Agent Burke, she decided. It was almost like talking to an old friend. Almost. After her first arrest, Burke had been kind, caring, and sympathetic. Despite being on opposite sides, they had parted ways on good terms.

"Kyle breaks up with you in prison and goes to ground. The trail ends here. But, you already know that," he said. Peter had come around to the other side of the support that Nora was resting against. She glanced up at him quickly. He wore a small smile.

"I missed him by two days."

"Still," he said, "it only took you a month and a half to escape a supermax. Damn impressive." He meant it, too. Nora managed a small laugh, despite herself. Even if he was a fed, and he was about ready to haul her back to prison, Nora didn't feel uneasy letting her guard down around him. He was a good guy, as feds went.

Peter pulled out a walkie talkie and spoke into it. "All clear. Subject identified and unarmed."

"Roger that," someone said. They were moving in. Despite her earlier resignation to her fate, her instinct of 'run and escape' clawed at her belly. But, of course, it was too late for that.

"We surrounded?" she asked anyway. Peter nodded. He knew she wasn't going to run. He wasn't concerned. "How many?"

He thought for a moment. "Including my agents, and the Marshalls? All of them, I think." Nora nodded. _Nice to see so many people care_, she thought somewhat bitterly. "What's the message?" There was a hint of curiosity in his voice. A mystery he wanted to solve, so he could cleanly and fully wrap up his investigation.

"Goodbye." She sat the bottle down beside her.

"I'm sorry," he said, and she knew he meant it. She didn't say anything. "They're going to give you another four years for this."

Nora sighed. "I don't care." Peter looked at her with sympathetic eyes.

For the first time, Nora turned her attention fully to Agent Burke. She smiled a little and a small giggle slipped out. Peter met her soft blue eyes. She had apparently wiped off the makeup she had used to disguise herself as a man. She was certainly beautiful, with her high cheekbones and full pink lips. She simultaneously looked innocent and mischievous. Her eyes were red and puffy, likely from crying, though she would never admit that.

"That's the suit you were wearing the first time you arrested me," she said as she pushed herself to her feet.

Peter shrugged, looking down at his suit. "Eh. The classics never go out of style." Nora walked over to him slowly. Her sharp blue eyes focused in on his shoulder with curiosity. Slowly, she reached a hand toward him. Peter watched her with equal curiosity as she plucked off one of the shiny red fibers from the Dutchmen case. She held it up between them.

"Do you know what this is?"

Peter laughed. "No idea. I got it from a case I was supposed to be working before they yanked me off to come find you."

She could hear shouting now from somewhere near by. The team sent in to arrest her. She ignored it. "Do you think you'll catch him?"

"Don't know," he admitted. "He's good. Maybe as good as you."

"Pft," Nora snorted. "What's it worth if I tell you what this is? Is it worth a meeting?"

"What are you talking about?" Peter asked. What could she possibly have wanted a meeting for?

"If I tell you what this is, _right now_, will you agree to meet me back in prison in one week?" Peter took a moment to think about it. There wasn't much time left. "Just a meeting," she promised. The yelling was getting louder in the hallway.

"Okay," he agreed. If it helped, he would take what he could get.

"It's a security fiber for the new Canadian hundred dollar bill." She handed it back to Peter, his face furrowed in confusion. The cavalry bust through the door, guns drawn. She put her hands up as they rushed forward, offering no resistance as they handcuffed her. Her eyes were still on Peter as they began leading her away. He thought he could see them begin to cloud over with fear.

"One week," she reminded him.


	3. Unprecedented

Chapter Three

Unprecedented

If there was anything that worried Peter Burke, it was when the Bureau's upper brass congregated, huddled with whispers and backwards glances at him. Peter tried to ignore them as he and Diana walked out.

"Hey," he said in a low voice as they passed, "what's got the belt and suspender boys all riled up?"

"_You_," she said with a smirk.

"Me? What'd I do?"

"Caffrey was right. That stuff from the bank vault? Security fibers from the Canadian hundred." She handed him a file.

He flipped through it. How the hell could she have known something like that? But, there it was. Peter blew out, somewhat impressed. "I'll be damned."

"Apparently, the formulation's still classified," Diana told him. "The Canadian Secret Service is very curious to know how you figured it out."

Peter flipped the file closed and glanced back toward the men still whispering about him in across the room. "This should be fun," he said.

"You may have started an international incident."

Peter tried not to dwell on that. If they could catch the Dutchman, the rest would all sort itself out in the end. In the meantime, Peter Burke had a meeting to keep.

* * *

Peter found himself back at the women's correctional facility. He checked in his gun and wallet with the guard outside the visitation room and was lead in. This room wasn't the same one from the video. Likely, it was used for more private visits, between inmates and their lawyers. Nora was already waiting, some papers laid out in front of her. She smiled brightly up at him.

"Thank you for coming, Peter." Peter didn't sit across from her. He leaned against sill of a barred, shatterproof window. "It really means a lot."

"How'd you know?" he asked, opting to skip pleasantries.

"Come on, Peter," she laughed, leaning forward slightly and holding his gaze. "It's what I do. How upset were the Canadians?" She seemed amused by all of this.

"Oh, very," he admitted. "Well, as upset as Canadians can get." Peter pushed himself away from the window and took a few steps froward. He leaned against the cold metal table opposite of the one she sat at. "Alright. So, I agreed to a meeting. We're meeting."

Her expression suddenly became very serious. She legitimately had some sort of goal for this, something she wanted that she thought Peter could help her get. "I know why you call him the Dutchman." This surprised Peter. He hadn't said anything about the case he was working on beyond that the guy was really good. "Like the ghost ship, disappears into the mist whenever you get too close."

Peter shrugged. "How do you know anything about him?"

"You know my life. You don't think I know yours?" she asked. She was still serious. "Did you get the birthday cards?"

"Nice touch," Peter admitted. He still had them, in a case file somewhere.

"You've been after the Dutchman almost as long as you were after me." Her voice was low. She leaned forward. "I can help you catch him."

Peter laughed. "Really?" Nora didn't look like she was joking. "Really, how does that work? You wanna be prison pen pals?"

Without a word, she opened the file in front of her and pushed it across the table before making a gesture inviting Peter to look at it. Peter, curious, took a seat on the bench across from her and took a look. It was information concerning confidential informants. Specifically, criminals who cut deals for reduced sentences or parole in exchange for information.

"You can get me out of here." Her eyes were shining. "There's case law, precedent. I can be released into your custody-"

Peter cut her off. "Nice." She had done her homework, and the information she had gathered was actually somewhat impressive. But Peter knew how to smell a con, and if Nora Caffrey was involved, it was definitely a con. "This is very nice. But you're right; I do know you. And I know the second you're out, you'll take off after Kyle."

"Peter, I'm not gonna run." Peter shot her a look that practically screamed _I wasn't born yesterday, kid. _Nora seemed to have prepared for this, as well. She slid another paper over to him.

"GPS tracking anklet. The new ones are tamper proof, never been skipped on." Peter was familiar with tracking anklets.

He was also familiar with Nora. "There's always a first time." Peter straightened out the papers and sat them down.

Nora realized this hadn't gone in her favor. "Think about it," she plead. Peter knew better than to trust her wide, baby blue eyes.

"Sorry, Nora." He stood and patted her on the shoulder. "Nice try." He left without another word. Nora ran a hand through her hair as she watched him go.

* * *

The day stretched on forever. Nora, for lack of a better word, moped. The walls of her cell were drab and barren. They had taken away all of her books and art and word magnets. The only thing that remained were the 1,300 tally marks.

"Lights out, Bobby," she heard from the radio of a passing guard. "Shut 'em down." The lights in the cell block started turning off with the all too familiar clicking sound.

"Nora, sweetheart, you gotta turn that off," Bobby said, referring to her light. His voice was heavy. He was always so kind.

"One more minute, Bobby?"

"Okay, one more minute."

"Is it midnight yet?"

"Yeah, it's midnight," he sighed, and moved on down the block.

Nora stood and moved to her tally marks. Almost four years were drawn there. And now, there was another four to look forward to. She made a tally and started at them for a long moment.

Anger, frustration, and dismay rose in her chest suddenly. No, it hadn't been sudden at all. It had been building for a month. She escaped, but it hadn't disappeared, it just buried itself under the excitement, the thrill of one more con. Then, looking forward to the meeting with Peter, that one small spark of hope, had held the feelings at bay for the past week.

But that hope was crushed. Nora was crushed. She began crossing out the tally marks in violent, angry strokes. Her arm knocked against the bare light bulb, and it shattered against the wall. She pounded her fist on the wall, prompting some angry shouting from her neighbors.

She panted, tears welling in her eyes. With a final, resigned sigh, she turned to the opposite wall and drew a single tally mark. Just 1,549 to go.

* * *

Peter couldn't sleep. Something about Nora, about their meeting, nagged at him. It had been almost three months ago, but he still couldn't help but run it over in his mind. He had pulled out his files on her. They were spread across the dining room table, but they didn't seem to be helping quiet the pestering voice in his head. Peter picked up a birthday card with a cupcake on the front and regarded it for a moment. Typical Nora Caffrey. He tossed it back down.

He heard his wife come up behind him, but didn't say anything. She wound her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his. "Coming to bed tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She looked at the case files with curiosity. "Oh, don't tell me it's Nora Caffrey." She sat down in the chair next to him. "I thought I was done competing with her for your attention."

"She would be out today," Peter told her.

"You're considering her offer?" Peter shrugged. On one hand, it felt like a con. On the other, what could the con have possibly been? "Well, of course you are, or you'd be in bed with me." Elizabeth smiled with genuine humor. "Can she help you find him?"

"Nora's smart. You know how much I like smart."

Elizabeth picked up the photo of Nora's mugshot and regarded it for a moment. "Wow, I forgot how beautiful she is. And, of course, smart."

"She's almost as smart and beautiful as the woman I married," Peter told her. And he meant it. Elizabeth smiled again.

"Good answer. So what's the problem?"

"This isn't the way it's supposed to work," Peter huffed. "You get caught, you do your time. There's more to this, more than some lost love. Some side angle she's playing."

El didn't look convinced. "So you suggest she escapes a maximum security prison, knowing full well that you'd catch her… just so she could trick you into letting her out again?"

When she put it that way, it sounded absurd. "It's a working theory," he admitted.

"Yeah. Keep working." Peter couldn't help but laugh. "Is it so hard for you to believe a woman would do that for the man she loves?"

"Nora just bought herself four more years in prison. _For what_?" El looked at him, incredulous.

"For _what_? If I were Nora, don't you think I would have run for you?"

There was nothing Peter could say to that. When she put it like that, of course it made perfect sense. It didn't seem so irrational. But could he really trust Nora?

El stood and gave his a kiss on the cheek. "Why don't you come to bed?"

"I'll be right up," he promised. She went up without him as he cleaned up his files. He knew what he was going to do. He couldn't believe he was going to do it.

* * *

"You're sure about this, Peter?" Hughes asked, hands folded in front of him. His brow was furrowed in confusion. "Three months ago, you told me it wasn't worth the risk."

"Three months ago, I thought we would have had another lead on the Dutchman by now."

"So you're getting desperate?"

"Caffrey is confidant she can help us get to him. She's smart. She knows the way these types think." Peter paused, taking a breath. Hughes was right. After their meeting, Peter had hardly stopped to consider her offer. Now, here he was, arguing in her defense. It seemed like the world had turned topsy-turvy, but Peter had a feeling in his gut that this was the right call.

"She was right about the security strips. Think about it. She somehow managed to learn that information _in prison_. I think she could be an asset to us."

Hughes sighed, mulling over Peter's words. "And if she tries to run?"

"Then I catch her, and that's it. She goes back, no further questions asked." _But I don't think she's that dumb._

"And you understand that she would be _your_ responsibility?" That was the worrying part, yes. If she did anything or, Heaven forbid, actually managed to get away, it would be egg on Peter's face. There would be hearings, a mountain of paperwork…

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll trust you on this one, Peter," Hughes agreed after a long moment of silence. "We'll consider the Dutchman case a trial period. If she does good work, we'll see about making the arrangement permanent."

"Thank you."

Hughes sighed. "Let's get started on the paperwork."

Peter let out a breath. His heart was pounding in his chest. Four years ago, he had arrested her for the first time. Three months ago, he arrested her again.

Now Agent Peter Burke was making a deal with Nora Caffrey.


	4. Thrifty

Chapter Four

Thrifty

Nora couldn't believe it had actually worked. For a moment, when her lawyer had told her the FBI was making arrangements to set up the deal, three months after her failed meeting with Peter, she thought she had been dreaming. But, things kept going, and she kept not waking up. A lot of paperwork and boring legal talk later, the Marshalls were strapping the tracking anklet to her leg.

A few more papers to sign, and Nora was free. Ish. She was lead out of the prison by a guard. The gate slid open slowly, and she stepped out. Peter was waiting on the other side, leaning against his shiny black Ford. She smiled broadly at him, but he stopped her before she could come closer.

"Let me see it," he called. She lifted up her pant leg to show him the tracking anklet. Already, it was itchy and uncomfortable, but she would learn to live with that. "You understand how this works?"

Nora walked forward as she spoke. "I'm being released into the custody of the FBI, under your supervision, with this thing chaffing my leg. Anything I'm missing?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "If you run, and I catch you, which you know I will because I'm two-and-oh, you're not back here for four years, you're back here for good." Her smiled turned into a serious, somber expression, and she nodded in acknowledgment. She understood the gravity of her situation. "You're going to be tempted to look for Kyle. Don't."

"I told you," she said softly, "the bottle meant goodbye."

"Then leave it at that," Peter advised. "This is a temporary situation. Help me catch the Dutchman, we can make it permanent." He offered a small smile before he turned to get in the car. Nora followed.

"Where are we going?" she asked as she sat down.

"Your new home."

The drive back into the city was somewhat long. The easy, almost friendly banter from the day Peter arrested her again seemed to have disappeared. The man seemed uneasy. His hands clenched the steering wheel tightly, and he kept glancing over at her with suspicious eyes, perhaps starting to doubt his decision to make a deal.

Nora sat awkwardly in the passenger seat with her hands folded in her lap. She felt vaguely like a misbehaved child in the car with an unhappy parent. And the silence was almost maddening. Finally, she caved and decided to ask one of the several questions that had been burning on her tongue. "Hey, can I ask you something?" Peter made a soft grunt she took as a yes. "What made you change your mind?"

Peter seemed to consider this for a moment before answering. "After our meeting, I couldn't stop thinking about your deal. I kept running it around in my head, but I couldn't make heads or tails of it. I couldn't figure it out." He paused, glancing over at Nora, who watched him with her wide blue eyes full of curiosity. "I was up late, looking over your old case files, and my wife talked through it with me. She thinks you're just a hopeless romantic, and that this isn't some con you're trying to pull."

"It's not a con," Nora tried to reassure him.

"You'll excuse if I don't take your word for it," he said with a pointed look. Nora laughed. And, after a moment, Peter did too. There it was. The banter. The feeling that it was okay to relax a little bit.

"Elizabeth sounds lovely." Peter paused. He hadn't told her El's name… but he wasn't surprised she knew it anyway. _You know my life. You don't think I know yours_? Somehow, the thought didn't make Peter feel as uncomfortable as it should have.

"She is," Peter agreed. "She always tries to see the best in people."

"So, kind of the opposite of you," Nora said, grinning.

"I guess so." Peter pulled the car over. Nora looked around, not sure what to expect. "Here we are." The building they parked outside of was… horrible. A dirty, rusted sign hung on the corner that read 'HOTEL' but that description was being way too generous. They got out and headed toward the entrance, Nora dragging her feet.

The lobby was worse. Nora couldn't place the smell, and it took a lot of restraint not to crinkle her nose like a child who didn't want to eat her broccoli. A few people stood idly in the lobby. Nora wasn't usually one to judge people for their appearances, but the people did not inspire confidence in her 'new home.'

Peter walked up to the man at the reception desk, an older man with gray hair and a bushy, unkempt mustache. He held what looked like a ping pong paddle in one hand. "This is Nora Caffrey," Peter told the man. "My office called earlier." He checked a log book quickly, then turned to grab a key off the wall behind him.

"Here ya go, sweetheart," he said, making Nora more uncomfortable, which she hadn't thought was possible. He leaned forward and looked into her eyes. Nora took a small, unconscious step closer to Peter. "You know, they say never trust a woman with big, blue eyes."

"I will keep that in mind," she muttered, grabbing the key. She turned to Peter. "Can I talk to you for a second?" Peter followed her down the hallway a ways. A man turned toward them, as if he wanted to be part of their conversation. "Maybe a litter further down." There was a _bang_ as the man at the desk swatted a fly with the ping pong paddle. Nora jumped, cringing somewhat toward Peter.

"Do I have to stay here?" Peter could see the discomfort, maybe even fear in her eyes. Her lower lip trembled a little.

_Don't fall for it,_ Peter scolded himself. _She's one of the best liars I've ever met._ "Oh, cowboy up," he said sternly. She looked taken aback. "It costs seven hundred a month to house you on the inside, so that's what it costs here. For the money, this is as good as it gets. You find something better, take it."

"Peter, it's _New York_." He shrugged. "And what about clothes? I'm wearing my entire wardrobe." That wasn't strictly true, but it was true enough for Peter's sake.

"You like thrift stores," Peter said. "There's one at the end of the block." Nora opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "Oh, no, don't even start. This is what you wanted, isn't it?" She didn't answer. "Listen, your tracking anklet is set up so you can go anywhere within two miles of this place. Here's your homework." He handed Nora a thick stack of files. "Remember, two miles." He patted her on the shoulder and turned to the door.

Before he walked out, he turned. "I'll see you at seven AM." Then he was gone. _Bang_! The man behind the counter swatted another fly.

With a resigned sigh, Nora looked at the key she had been given. Walking slowly, hugging the files close to her chest, she found her way to her room, room 11. It was dank and dimly lit. The sheets on the bed had what she could only describe as mystery stains. Before she could close the door, a dog ran in and plopped itself on the bed.

"Nice doggy," she said peeking out into the hallway to see if someone was looking for it. She didn't see anyone. She came closer, and the dog began growling. "Lovely."

She needed air. She tucked the files Peter had given her in a drawer. She didn't bother closing the door before she left. The only thing there was to steal were the case files, and maybe if Peter learned someone was stealing FBI files from her room, he would try and find somewhere nicer for her to live. Doubtful, but it was comforting thought. Though, the main reason she left the door open was that hopefully the dog would be gone before she got back.

She kept her head down as she walked out of the lobby, hugging her coat tight around herself. The chilly city air was refreshing after the strange musty odor of the motel. She decided to start with the thrift store Peter had suggested.

It was a short walk. Nora realized how much she had missed, over the past four years, walking the streets of New York. She could smell the familiar aroma of street food carts and coffee shops over top the ever-prevalent city pollution. There was the bustle of traffic, sirens and honking horns, of people chatting as they walked along the busy sidewalks. It felt like home.

The thrift store was quaint. Peter hadn't been wrong; Nora did love thrift stores. They were quiet, and it was somewhat exciting to think about what hidden treasures one might find in the piles of old, donated things. There was something almost romantic about it. Nora thought of the hours she and Kyle had spent, picking through the shelves of countless stores all over the city. Her heart panged with a brief moment of sadness before she pushed the thought away.

The clothing selection in the store was… not good. She hadn't expected anything super high quality, but it seemed like everything was too big, too small, or had various mystery stains on it. Nora sighed as she flipped through the racks. She missed her clothes. They were all locked away in a storage unit. She had trusted the key to a friend for safe keeping, but said friend was having a hard time remembering where they had put it. She didn't blame them. It had been four years. And she couldn't just go have the owner open it because… well, the unit wasn't actually in Nora's name.

As she looked through the rack for the third or so time, Nora noticed a nicely dressed woman walk up to the counter. She was older, with soft brown skin and well-done hair. Nora guessed she was rather wealthy. She had several what Nora assumed were suits in protective covers.

"Hello," the clerk said with a smile.

"I've come to donate these," she said, laying the bags down on the counter. Nora casually wandered over, curious.

"Old suits," the clerk said as she unzipped the bags.

"Mm-hmm," the lady hummed, helping her open them.

"Those are fantastic," Nora offered, walking up beside the lady. She smiled brightly at Nora.

"Oh, they belonged to my late husband, Byron," she explained. "He really had great taste in clothes."

Nora ran a hand over the suit jacket the clerk had pulled out. Her eye caught on the tag. "This is a Devore, isn't is?" she asked.

"Yes," June said, surprised. "He won it from Sy himself."

"Won it?" Nora asked.

"He beat him in a back door draw," she said with a sly smile.

Nora couldn't help but laugh. "Your husband played poker with Sy Devore?"

"He certainly did," the lady confirmed, "and so did I."

"Wow." Nora liked this lady. She clearly had lived a life, and she owned it.

"The guys would even let me sit in once in a while on a hand. And I was good." She pointed at Nora, smiling broadly.

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Nora said.

"It's nice to see someone appreciates these," the lady said with a far away look, like someone lost in old memories of good times. "I was hoping someone would. Though, I'm afraid you won't have much use for them," she added with a chuckle.

"Unfortunately," Nora agreed.

"Although..." The lady thought for a moment. "Yes, I think you might be just about the same size as my granddaughter, Cyndi." Nora paused. Was this lady going to say what Nora thought she was going to say? "I have a whole closet full of some of her old clothes that I've been thinking about donating."

"A whole closet?"

"Mm-hmm. Well, actually, it's a guest room, but I haven't used it for anything but storage for years." Her dark eyes were twinkling, and Nora could see just a touch of mischief in them. "If you're interested."

"That would be amazing, ma'am," Nora said.

"June," she said, offering Nora a hand. She shook it.

"Nora." Maybe things would look up after all… Then she remembered her tracking anklet. "Do you live nearby?"

June smiled a knowing smile. "Not far."

She finished with the clerk, wished her a lovely day, and led Nora out to her car. Nora hesitated, looking down at her leg. "Before we go, I just need to make sure… when you said not far, does that happen to be somewhere within, oh, let's say… two miles?"

June smiled again. "I suspect that's due to the tracking anklet you're wearing?"

"Oh, you noticed that?" Nora asked sheepishly, tugging self-consciously on her pant leg.

"Don't be embarrassed, dear," June reassured her. "We all have a past." She motioned for Nora to get in her car. "And, yes, it is within two miles."


	5. New Accommodations

Chapter Five

New Accommodations

Nora's jaw nearly dropped as they pulled up in front of June's home. It was gorgeous. June and her late husband had obviously done very well for themselves. June noticed her starstruck expression as they got out of the car and smiled. "Byron built it year and years ago," she said, voice soft and wistful.

"It's beautiful."

"Thank you, dear. Come, come in. Make yourself at home."

The inside was decorated elegantly. A small pug ran up to June as they walked in the door. She stopped to scoop the dog up. As they walked, she pointed out various rooms and interesting pieces of art to Nora, who drank in the décor with almost hungry eyes. It had been a long time since she had been able to see anything nicer than the drawings she hung on her prison cell's walls.

At the top of the stairs, there was a single door down a hallway with yellow floral wallpaper. June smiled as she stood before Nora, ready to open the door. "This is the guest room." She pushed the door open and stepped in. Nora followed.

It was lovely. The room was wide open with lots of natural lighting. A beautiful balcony offered a breathtaking view of the city. It was a tad dusty, and there were boxes stacked around the room. June watched Nora's expression as she drank in the room.

"It's lovely," was all Nora could manage.

"Yes, it is rather lovely, isn't it?" June agreed. "We used to run a speakeasy out of this room, back in the day." Nora laughed, nodding her head. That sounded about right. "There are secret hiding places everywhere. Come on, let me show you the closet."

She led Nora through a door at the back of the room. It led into a dimly lit hallway. She opened another door off to the left. It was a sizable walk-in closet. Most of the shelves were lined with more of her husband's old suits. A decent collection of women's outfit hung at one end. June pulled one off the rack and held it up to Nora.

"Yes, I think you are right around the same size." Nora took it and looked it over. It was a business suit, stylish and clean. It would do well working for the FBI, she decided. But these were expensive clothes.

"I really don't have much money," she admitted, handing it back.

"Nonsense. I won't take your money, dear." Nora opened her mouth to protest, but June kept speaking. "I was just going to donate them anyway. What difference does it make if I donate them to a store, or directly to someone who needs them?"

"Are you sure?" she asked. Normally, Nora would take this and run with it. In fact, normally should would have tried to see how much she could get out of someone for a little as possible. But June was sweet, and she felt like something of a kindred spirit. She didn't want to con her.

"Absolutely." Together they looked through the rest of the outfits. Some of them, Nora decided, she probably wouldn't see much use for, as she wasn't sure how comfortable she was showing off her anklet in public if she wanted to wear a dress.

"Would you like some coffee, dear?" June asked, pulling Nora out of her thoughts.

"Oh, yeah, that would be great." June led her back out to the guest room, and out onto the balcony. It was getting steadily more chilly as the afternoon wore on. June disappeared down the stairs for a few minutes – trusting Nora alone – before returning with two mugs of steaming hot coffee. Nora took a sip. "Oh, that is delicious."

"Thank you." They sat for a moment and savored their warm drinks. "If you don't mind me asking, I'd like to learn a little bit more about your situation."

Nora nodded. She had been expecting this conversation. She didn't feel the need to lie to June about it though. She would understand, there wouldn't be any judgment.

"I was convicted of bond forgery in 2005," she said simply. June nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "The FBI caught me after a three year chase. I was accused of a lot of other things – art theft, smuggling… you name it. The bond forgery was the only thing they could get to stick."

June laughed. "You remind me so much of Byron. That all sounds right up his alley." Her eyes were far away again.

"I was sentenced to four years. But… I broke out to try and find my boyfriend after he broke up with me in prison." Again, there was no judgment, just sympathy. "The FBI caught me again, and I was given another four years. I made a deal with them to help them catch a criminal they've been after for a while in exchange for serving my sentence with the tracking anklet instead of in prison. Actually, today's my first day out."

"You don't say. I trust you have a place to stay?" June asked.

Nora wrinkled her nose. "I suppose you could say that. It's some gross motel down the road from the thrift store."

"Oh, no, that is no place for such a sweet young lady," June said, shaking her head.

"Tell me about it. But they're only willing to spend the same $700 a month it costs to house an inmate in prison. In New York, that's about the best you can get for $700."

June thought for a moment. "You know, I've been thinking about renting out this room, but it is just so hard to find people you can trust in your home now a-days. But, I think $700 a month is more than reasonable, don't you?"

Nora sat her coffee down and regarded June with a serious expression. "You mean it?" she asked, hardly daring to believe her luck.

"Of course."

"You would really let me live here?" She felt a smile starting to grow.

"Absolutely." Nora stood and gave June a hug.

"Thank you! Thank you so much! You have no idea how much this means to me."

"It's no problem at all, dear," June assured her, returning her hug. "We'll get the room cleaned up, and you can move in immediately."

* * *

The next morning, Peter was at Nora's motel at half past six, a bit earlier than he had told Nora. He did feel slightly bad leaving the way he had the day before. It was, perhaps, somewhat unfair to assume that her discomfort had been an act to get sympathy. The motel did have a sketchy look to it, and Peter certainly wouldn't have been comfortable leaving El there… Then he reminded himself that El wasn't a criminal and Nora could take care of herself. Still… If she did good work on the case, maybe he would see about finding her somewhere a bit more comfortable to stay.

He made his way into the lobby. The same man from the day before was waiting at the counter. He didn't seem to notice Peter, busy working on a Rubic's Cube. "Hey," he said, grabbing the man's attention. "I'm here for Caffrey, room 11."

The clerk looked at him blankly for a moment, before sitting up quickly. "Oh, yeah, yeah. Blue eyes. Nice girl." He grabbed a piece of paper out of a cubby on the wall behind him. "Left you a note."

Peter felt his stomach drop slightly as he grabbed it.

Dear Peter,

I have moved

1.6 miles

87 Riverside Ave.

XOXO

Nora

Peter sighed. Of course. Of course, give Nora Caffrey a day and a challenge to find somewhere better to live for the same price, and she would run with it. Honestly, Peter didn't know why he expected any different. _I did tell her she could_, he reminded himself. A phone call would have been nice, but it was what it was.

Back in his car, he plugged the address into his GPS. He was idly curious what she could have possibly found, in New York, for $700 a month, in a single night.

87 Riverside Ave was not _anywhere_ near what he was expecting. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming. Then, maybe that he had put the wrong address in the GPS. But no, it was correct. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered to himself.

The front door was glass. He rang the doorbell and waited, peering curiously inside. It was elegantly furnished. No one came to answer it. Impatient, he tried knocking. A _maid_ rounded the corner and opened the door, welcoming him in with a sweeping gesture.

"I think I have the wrong address," he told her, holding out the note. As she closed the door behind him, another woman came toward him from a sitting room. She was older, and she carried herself with grace. She held a pug under one arm. She smiled warmly at him, reminding him somewhat of his grandmother. But much, much more wealthy.

"You must be Peter," she said.

"I'm looking for Nora Caffrey," he said slowly, still not convinced all of this was really happening.

"She's upstairs," the woman said with a sly smile. Peter didn't know what to say. She laughed softly and turned to lead him up the stairs. He followed hesitantly.

"I'm a little confused," Peter admitted as they walked. "How do you know Nora?"

"We met yesterday," the lady told him. "She's a lovely girl. I just couldn't bear the thought of her in that motel."

"Right… I'm Peter Burke," he added, realizing he hadn't introduced himself.

"June," the woman told him. _No last name_, he noted. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Peter." She looked back and smiled at him, and for a moment, he thought of a smile he might have seen Nora use, like she had some secret Peter didn't know.

Before Peter could think of anything more to say, they had reached the top of the stairs. June motioned him in through a door, and Peter stepped out into a beautiful, nicely furnished bedroom. He turned to thank her, but she was already heading back down the stairs.

He saw Nora sitting out on a balcony. The view of the city was breathtaking. Peter tried to push down the irrational anger that was beginning to well up in his stomach. He walked out to join her. She was wearing a robe, reading a copy of the New York Journal. She lowered it as he stepped forward.

"You're early," she said brightly, not seeming too concerned.

"We're chasing a lead at the airport," he managed. "We got a hit on Snow White."

She folded the news paper. "Snow White… the phrase you decoded from a suspected Dutchman communicade at Barcelona." She smiled, tapping the files Peter had given her the day before.

"You moved," he said, changing the subject.

"Yeah! It's nicer than the other place, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I don't remember the other place having a view," Peter said pointedly. He couldn't help but be angry at the smug look on her face.

"I went to the thrift store, like _you_ suggested, and June-"

"Lady with the dog, we met."

"-was donating her late husband's clothes. We hit it off, she had an extra guest room..." Peter made a face. "You _said_ if I found a nicer place for the same price, I should take it." He had said that. Rationally, he knew he didn't have any reason to be angry. But he couldn't shake the feeling that she had somehow conned a sweet lady, or something.

"I did say that," he admitted. "All this for seven hundred?"

"Yup. If I help out around the place."

"Oh sure, feed the dog-" Peter said sarcastically.

Nora ignored the sarcasm. "Yeah, wash the Jag, watch her granddaughter from time to time."

"She's got you babysitting?" he asked, trying to picture Nora with small children. It was an... interesting image.

"I'm great with kids," she insisted.

"Sure, teach them to pick pockets and forge paintings young." She rolled her eyes, but didn't disagree. "Did you lie to her?"

"No. June is a sweet woman. I didn't trick her, or con her, or anything."

"So she knows your a felon?" he asked. Maybe she didn't lie, but he couldn't imagine she would have brought that up in casual conversation.

"Yeah." Or maybe she had.

"And she knows you escaped from prison."

"She does." Nora's infuriating calm smile didn't falter. She had, likely, expected these questions. Peter wasn't going to catch her off guard easily, he realized.

Peter sighed. "Go get dressed." She stood.

"Make yourself at home, Peter," she said, motioning to the breakfast laid out on the table before heading inside to get ready. Peter sat down and helped himself to a bread roll. It was delicious. He heard June come up behind him, her pug now on a leash.

She smiled warmly at him and poured some hot coffee before sitting down where Nora had been. Peter took a sip. "It's perfect," he told her. "Even the freaking coffee's perfect." June laughed. She seemed pleased with the compliment. "That's not jewelry on her ankle, you know." He wanted to be sure Nora hadn't been lying. "She's a felon."

June leaned forward and softly said, "So was Byron." Suddenly, things made more sense. Peter finished his coffee and thanked June. He stood, deciding to wait for Nora downstairs.

While he waited, Peter made a phone call. "Hey," he said with a heavy sigh, "I need a favor… It seems Caffrey has found other accommodations." His voice was tight. "I need an agent to come to the 87 Riverside Ave to sort out the paperwork with the owner… Yeah, thanks." He hung up.

Ten minutes later, Nora came down the stairs. She was dressed in a black pants suit, with a black-and-white stripped shirt underneath. It looked vaguely like something Diana might have worn, but about twice as expensive. Her hair was parted differently than it had been before, and all of her wavy black hair was pull over her right shoulder and pinned into place in the back. Her nails were bright red, though they had likely been that color before she changed, but Peter hadn't paid any attention. She wore simple stud earrings, and a thin necklace. She had a thin black purse hung over her left shoulder.

"You look…."

"Nice," she offered helpfully.

"Expensive," he corrected. She smirked, but didn't seem to be offended. Peter huffed a sigh. "C'mon, let's go." He headed for the door. She followed without another word.

Nearly the moment they sat down, Nora began pulling makeup out of her purse. Peter wondered how all of it had fit in the tiny bag. "Really? You need to do your makeup in my car?"

"You would have gotten mad if I took the time to do it before we left," she said, pulling down the sun visor. "Don't worry, I won't make a mess." Peter sighed again. She glanced over, noticing his tight grip on the steering wheel. "Why are you upset with me?"

"Who said I was upset?"

"You're super tense, you're scowling, and you sigh about every five seconds." Peter didn't respond. "Look, tell me which rule I broke, and I will thumb it back to prison myself."

"For starters…." He thought for a moment, but remembered that, of course, he didn't actually have an argument. She hadn't broken any rules. It was the situation that angered him, not Nora herself. "I work hard," he decided. "I do my job well, and I don't have a ten million dollar view of Manhattan to stare at while I sip espresso."

"Why not?" she asked, spreading foundation on her chin.

"Why not? Because I'm not _supposed_ to. The amount of work I do equals certain things in the real world. _Not_ cappuccino in the clouds."

She looked over at him. "Look, I will find out where June buys her coffee if it's that important."

"It's not about the coffee," Peter snapped.

"I think it is," she argued, returning her attention to the mirror.

"It's not." Peter barked out a bitter laugh. "This is what gets you into trouble," he told her. "This is the start of those something-for-nothing schemes that lead to the frauds that got you locked up."

She seemed to ponder this for a moment. "I think it's… some sort of Italian roast..." If looks could kill. She sighed. "I know how I got locked up, thank you very much. But this wasn't some kind of scam. I told June outright that I couldn't afford to pay her for these clothes, or a fair price for the room. But she insisted. She's been wonderful."

"So you just happened to luck into luxury?" Peter laughter, shaking his head. "A room with a view, expensive clothes, fancy makeup-"

"Oh, this is drugstore makeup," she said with a note of dismay, holding up something that read Cover Girl. "There is nothing fancy about it." She had apparently finished with her foundation. She opened her eye shadow and rubbed two of her fingers into two of the colors. Then she rubbed them across the back of her hand and studied them for a moment.

She held her hand up toward Peter. "Which one do you think?" Peter looked at her hand for a moment, then at her. His face was an unreadable mask. She drew her hand away, a slightly dejected look on her face.

"The one on the left," he sighed. Her eyes lit up.

She regarded the swatches again. "I agree. Not bad Agent Burke." She began applying it to her eye lids. "I'm going to guess Elizabeth asks you questions like that a lot?"

He laughed. "Yeah, you could say that. It took a while to figure out what answers she wanted." Nora giggled a little.

She continued with her makeup in silence and was just finishing by the time they reached the airport. She cleaned her hands on a makeup wipe before returning everything to her tiny purse, the wipe included. As she had promised, she hadn't made a mess.


	6. Snow White

Chapter Six

Snow White

Nora and Peter waited in silence inside the bustling airport. Peter checked his watch like he was afraid it was going to pull a Caffrey and escape. Finally, Peter's attention fell on a woman walking toward them with purpose. She wore a gray pants suit with a nice yellow blouse underneath. Her stern gaze and confidant gait screamed fed.

"Who's that?" Nora asked as they walked to meet her.

"That's Diana," he explained. "Diana's my probie."

"Probie?"

"Probationary agent. She does everything I don't, she's very good at her job, and she can do way better than you." They came to a stop in front of Diana. Diana was a bit taller than Nora, she noticed, who only stood up to a little over his chin. "Hey."

She smiled slightly to Nora. "You must be Nora Caffrey." Nora smiled back, offering a hand. She shook it, somewhat hesitantly, before smiling a little more warmly.

"What've we got?" Peter asked. People bustled around them.

She handed him a file and he began flipping through it as she spoke. "His name's Tony Fields. Customs flagged him coming in from Spain in response to our Snow White BOLO."

"Customs playing nice?"

"Oh, the usual chest-pounding." She rolled her eyes. "He's in _their_ custody, not _ours_."

Peter shrugged. "Less paperwork for me. What's he carrying?"

Diana grinned. "You're gonna love this." She turned and led them back the way she had come. Nora had been, on more than one occasion, stopped by customs. It was a strange feeling, she decided as they walked to the area where customs examined the things that worried them, to be on the opposite side of the process.

Three suitcases were laid out on metal tables. Inside each one were dozens of copies of children's books. Peter picked one up and read it aloud. "Blanco Nieves y Las Siete Enanos?"

"Snow White and her Seven Little Men," Nora offered, picking up another copy and began flipping through it.

"This is what triggered our alert?" Peter demanded. "What do we know about this guy?"

"Says he's a rare book dealer," Diana explained.

"Anything wrong with his paperwork?"

"Nope. He brought in the same books in the same quantity on three previous trips. He declared them each time."

Peter turned to Nora as she held up a book and gave it a small sniff. He made a face, but didn't ask. "Alright, Caffrey," he said, "what do you think? Are we wasting our time?"

She thought about this for a moment. "Well, they're not limited runs or special editions. They're not worth much."

"So why go through all the trouble of flying them in?"

"That's a great question," she said. "Couldn't tell you."

"He sure is nervous for having all the right paperwork," Diana noted.

"I want to talk to him," Peter told her.

"I'll set it up." She picked up her folder and started for the door. "Hey, boss, I'm grabbing some coffee. You want some?"

"Yeah, anything but decaf."

Nora pulled a five out of her purse. "Grab me one too?" she asked, with as charming a smile as she could manage. She was sure Peter had warned all of his agents not to trust her, but maybe Diana would realize there was no sinister hidden motive one could have in asking for coffee.

Diana fidgeted a bit. "Uh, sure." She took the bill.

"I take mine black."

"Right." She rushed off.

Behind her, Peter laughed. Nora spun around. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing," he said, still looking at the books. "It's just, I'm surprised Diana agreed. She doesn't really like being anyone else's errand girl. When you asked, I figured she would tell you to get your own damn coffee."

"Well, maybe she's trying to be nice since we're going to be working together?" Nora said defiantly.

Peter grinned. "Maybe. Or maybe she thinks you're cute." He laughed again at the confused look on Nora's face, then again at the moment she realized what he had meant.

"Oh." He started for the door.

"Just so we're clear. I had better not find out you are trying to flirt with _any_ of my agents to do something you're not supposed to be doing, or I will make your life miserable. Got it?"

"Got it." He pointed at her sternly and walked out the door, leaving her alone with a mountain of books. She studied them for a few minutes longer, but nothing jumped out. With nothing more to really see, she followed after Peter. She saw Diana making her way toward them with the three cups of coffee.

Diana got to work setting up Peter's talk with Tony Fields with customs as they sipped on their drinks in silence. After it was arranged, Peter headed off and Diana continued chatting with the customs agent, a pretty blonde woman with a nice smile.

As Nora watched, she could see that Peter had been serious. She and the customs agent were very clearly flirting. Nora passively rooted for Diana to get her number; they looked cute together.

Peter returned after only a few minutes with a sour look on his face. Diana noticed him and excused herself from the blonde. "Where's the Customs Inspector?" he demanded as she joined them.

She pointed to a man behind Peter. "Caffrey was right, by the way. The books aren't worth much. You can pick one up for a couple bucks on eBay." Nora smiled smugly.

Peter turned on the Customs Inspector. "Hey, why didn't you tell me that guy lawyered up? The second he makes that call, I can't talk to him." _Ah_, Nora thought. _That explains the angry face_.

"He didn't call anybody," the inspector insisted.

"Then how did his lawyer know that he-" As he spoke, it dawned on him, and realization spread on his face. He took off running back toward the room Fields was being held in. Nora and Diana ran after him, heels clacking loudly on the tile.

There was a needle sticking out of the man's neck. He was slumped over on the table, dead. Nora looked on in silent discomfort, fighting back the wave of nausea that rolled over her with a hand on her mouth. Death made her uncomfortable.

"I need paramedics in here, now," the Customs Inspector commanded, and the customs agents rushed about.

"Nobody frisked the lawyer?" Peter asked no one in particular. Nora decided to leave the room before she puked all over the crime scene. She returned to look at the Snow White books, trying not to think about the dead man a few rooms away.

Somebody had been killed over these books. Clearly, there was something there that they weren't seeing. But what?

Peter and Diana rejoined her a short while later, and the three of them poured over the books. Peter sighed in frustration. "We've got a dead book dealer, a killer lawyer, and a bunch of worthless books. Alright. Come on." He turned on Nora and looked at her expectantly. "As a reformed professional counterfeiter, _what _is the Dutchman's interest in these?"

She tugged gently at her hair, smoothing the already immaculate waves down as she looked at the book. Her eyes were far away, mind racing as she tried to make any connection she could to counterfeiting. This was her area of expertise. What would she use these books for?

"Published 1944 in Madrid." It was like a light bulb lit up over her head. Her eyes sparkled as she ran a hand over the paper. "This is what he's after!" she announced. Peter and Diana stopped dead.

"The top sheet?" Peter asked as she began sliding a ruler under the paper to peel it up.

"More than that," she explained. "This is a piece of 1944 Spanish press parchment."

Peter and Diana came around the table to join her. "That's what he wants," Peter concluded. "Good. This is good."

"He's going to counterfeit something that was originally printed on this kind of paper," Diana said.

"Exactly what I would do," she admitted. It was genius. The books themselves weren't likely to attract attention – the fact that they had was mere chance that the FBI had intercepted a message. They weren't illegal to have, their sale wasn't regulated. They could just walk the materials they needed right through customs without raising any red flags.

Nora finished peeling up the sheet, and Peter grabbed it, holding it up. "Tony made three prior shipments with these."

"Two blank pages per book is six hundred sheets," Nora said, though they could all do the math themselves.

"Too many for paintings, not enough for currency," Peter said, shaking his head. Then he smiled. "I bet our dead book dealer knew. Diana, where's the wallet?"

"It's right here." She handed it to him and he began to leaf through it.

"This is where he went the day before he left for Spain," Peter announced, throwing down a visitor pass that read 'The National Archives.' His name was printed above a bar code. They had found their next lead.


	7. The White Collar Crime Division

Chapter Seven

The White Collar Crime Division

The National Archives were a quiet place. Peter asked the receptionist in a soft voice to speak with someone concerning their dead book dealer, and anything he might have been interested in seeing when he had visited. She introduced them to Vincent, an archivist who had spoken with Fields. He seemed somewhat saddened to learn he had died.

"Oh, yes," he said when Peter showed him the picture. "I do remember him. He came in several months ago, and then again last week."

"Do you remember what he was looking at while he was here?"

"Yes, of course," he said. "I can show you." He instructed them to wait while he ran off to get what Fields had seen during his visits. Peter watched Nora in silence while they waited. It was unbelievable, really. One day out of prison, and she had already found them a lead. Of course, the fact that they got a hit on Snow White that day was pure chance, and the lawyer killing the book dealer was a pretty big hint that they were on the right track, but how long would it have taken his agents to realized the top sheet was what the Dutchman wanted?

Vincent returned down a set of spiral stairs carrying something with great care. His hands were gloved. As he reached the bottom, he laid it carefully out on the table before them. "This is what he came to see," he said as they moved forward to examine it. With a look at Peter for permission, Nora bent over the bond to look at it more closely. She picked it up with a cloth. "A Spanish Victory Bond. He took several photographs of it, said he was going to write a book. It's a shame he's died. This bond does have a fascinating history."

"It's a Goya," she noted.

"Yes," he said with a note of admiration. "Beautiful, isn't it." Peter pulled out the top sheet of the Snow White book from his pocket and held it up over the bond carefully.

"Oh, look at that. A perfect fit." Nora smiled. "You're starting to earn your seven hundred a month."

She chose to ignore that and went back to examining the bond. "You said it had a fascinating history," she said.

"Quite. It was issued during the war."

"1944," she supplied.

"Yes. The U.S. issued it to support the Spanish underground in their battle against the Axis. Very few have ever been redeemed." Peter watched Nora carefully. Her eyes narrowed as she looked closely at the bond. She chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "There's speculation that entire boxes were captured and many are still hidden away in the caves of Altamira."

"Whole boxes of these," Peter repeated, beginning to see the Dutchman's plan in all of this.

"Yeah," Vincent agreed. His voice took a wistful tone. "Boy, that would be something, wouldn't it. This is the only surviving copy." _That would be something, alright_, Peter thought sarcastically.

Nora straightened, setting the bond back on the table. "Except it's a forgery."

Vincent's smile dropped away, and both men stared at her in shock. "No," Vincent said, finding his voice. "That's not possible."

"What are you talking about?" Peter muttered.

"It's the ink," she explained. "It's an iron-gal dye mixed to match the period colors. Very convincing. But it hasn't dried yet. You can still smell the gum arabic." She held it up to both men. Hesitantly, they took a whiff. _I'll be damned_.

"Oh, no," Vincent protested, his lower lip trembling. "This has been here since 1952."

She met his eyes with a sympathetic smile. "It's been here less than a week."

Peter could see that Vincent was becoming frazzled. He looked back at Nora. Her eyes were smug, having caught something that none of the 'experts' in this building had noticed. He sent her out to the car to wait while he finished up with Vincent.

Five minutes later, Peter found Nora leaned up against the side of the car, checking her makeup in a compact mirror. She smiled at him as he came near. "Get in," he said, clicking the key fob to unlock the door.

"Where to now?" she asked as she climbed in.

"The FBI building."

"I haven't been there since my interrogation the first time you arrested me," she said thoughtfully. Peter glanced over. Her eyes were a million miles away, not sad per se, but somber. Of course, Peter remembered that too, but for him that had been a happy day, a day of victory.

He thought back. She had been scared, he remembered. Terrified. After the relief of having found Kyle had worn off, and everything became real, he had seen her trembling. She had been twenty-eight years old, and had never - to his knowledge at least - been arrested before. But, he recalled, she had hidden her fear pretty well, for the most part. She smiled, she made jokes. She didn't give them a single useful piece of information that they could have used in court against her.

"You were kind that day," she told him suddenly, after a long silence. He glanced over at her. "You spoke gently to me, treated me like a person, walked me through everything that was happening." She looked over at him, leaning forward to see his eyes. "I never got the chance to tell you that that meant a lot to me."

"It's nothing, really," he said gruffly, unsure what else _to_ say. He hadn't expected her to get so sentimental on him. Normally, she was all arrogant smiles and witty jokes. Now, he realized, she had let her guard down a little bit. Maybe she trusted him a little more than he had thought.

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence. As they pulled into the parking garage, he could practically feel the excitement radiating off of her. Whatever sad, nostalgic mood she had been in before had worn off, and it seemed like the normal Caffrey was back.

He led her to the elevator and pressed the '21' button. She busied herself by flipping through some of their files on the ride up. A few people got on and then off as they climbed, but before too long, the soft _ding_ sounded and the doors slid open to the White Collar Crime division.

"Welcome back," he said with a small smile as they stepped out of the elevator. Her eyes were sparkling with curiosity. It was getting late, nearly eight in the evening. Most of the agents had gone home, aside from Peter's team, who he had asked to stay. He held the door open for Nora, and she stepped into the bullpen for the first time.

* * *

"This is your desk," Peter told her, tapping the surface of a plain, gray metal desk after handing off their forged bond to an agent to get some tests done ASAP. The desk looked just like everyone else's, but turned to the side. _Likely so Peter can keep an eye on me from his office._ A computer was set up, occupying a lot of the space. There were organizers for files and a pen holder full of generic Bic pens. She grabbed a rubber band ball and turned it over in her hands. She took a seat in the office chair. It wasn't the worst. It made her feel professional.

Peter pointed to a sticky note on the keyboard. "That's your log in information. Don't try to change it." She nodded. "A work email has been set up for it. We will be reading it daily. You're also free to log into your personal email, but we will monitor that too."

"Do I get access to any FBI resources?" she asked with a smile.

Peter laughed. "You can use Google." She nodded, not expecting anything else. "Your searches will be monitored daily too. No matter how good you think you are at hiding your browsing history, you're not good enough. So, just keep your searches appropriate, legal, and work-related."

He came around the desk to stand beside her before continuing. "You will be subjected random desk searches at our discretion. They might be while you're here, they might be when you're not. They _will _be thorough. If we find anything you're not supposed to have, you will be in a lot of trouble. So, just be smart, and don't have anything you're not supposed to have."

She nodded. She had expected the strict rules. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't going to Google anything suspicious from an FBI computer, or keep anything illegal in her desk. Peter continued. "Since you are in my custody, I also have the right to search your person and your apartment as I deem necessary." He gave her a pointed look. "Please don't make me deem it necessary."

"Peter, I understand the rules," she laughed.

"Oh, I'm sure you understand them," Peter agreed. "It's the following part you have trouble with." She rolled her eyes. "This isn't a game, Nora. You're walking on a very thin line. One misstep, and I won't have any choice but to put you back in prison. So, for your own sake, behave."

"Okay, Peter," she said very seriously. "I get it."

"Good." He nodded. "Come on, we have work to do." He led her up to a conference room at the top of the stairs. Diana and another agent, a somewhat familiar looking young man, were already seated around the table, case files spread out around them. Nora took a seat at the end of the table.

She saw the man glance over at her with curiosity. She smiled and held out a hand to him. "Nora Caffrey," she introduced herself.

"Oh, I know who you are," he laughed, shaking her hand. "Clinton Jones."

"Alright," Peter said, clapping his hands together once. "Let's get to work." He filled the two agents in on what they had learned. They reviewed the facts of the case in depth. Eventually, the agent returned with the bond, and they read over the results of the tests.

"Okay, Tony makes two trips. First time he takes a picture of the bond. The second time, he steals the original and replaces it with this copy." Peter tapped the forged bond. "Can we confirm that?"

Jones nodded. "The timed ink identification test puts the age of the bond at approximately six days, which coincides with Tony's visit."

"We're pulling surveillance video to back it up," Diana told him. Nora was listening silently from the side, mind racing to put together all of the pieces and see the bigger picture. She tossed her rubber band ball up and caught it.

"Good," Peter said. "So, the question is, why go through the trouble of making a really nice forgery, on the right kind of paper, just to stick it back in the archives?"

Something tugged in Nora's mind. She sat up, rolling the ball between her palms. "Is the bond still negotiable?" she spoke up from the side. They all turned to look at her.

"It's a zero option, so it never expires," Peter explained. "What's it worth?"

"Thousand dollar face value," Jones said, "drawing nine percent interest."

"Compound that for sixty-four years," Diana added. Jones pulled up a calculator and began plugging in the numbers.

"Two hundred forty-eight thousand dollars," Nora said absently.

They finished the calculation on the calculator. Jones chuckled. "What she said."

"Quarter of a million," Peter sighed. "Not chump change. And he's got six hundred sheets of the stuff."

They all turned to her, expectantly. She began running the numbers in her head. It took only a moment. "Hundred fifty million, give or take."

"He'd be a rich man if he could pass them off," Peter admitted. "But that still doesn't tell us why he would take out the real bond and put in the forgery."

Something clicked in Nora's head. "I think it does." She looked up at Peter, a small grin on her face. "What if he claimed he found boxes of the original bonds?" Peter nodded, mind likely heading in the same direction.

"Dragged them out of those caves in Spain," he mused.

"Yeah, how would they be authenticated?"

She could see the dots connecting in Peter's brain. "They would be taken to the archives and compared to the original."

"Which," she concluded, "he's already switched out with one of his own copies." That was it. The bigger picture.

"So of course they'd match." Peter smiled. "Oh, this is good. This is really good." Nora leaned back in her chair and began tossing her rubber band ball again. Peter snatched it out of the air as he passed behind her. "Alright, let's think about this."

Before Peter could continue, his phone rang from the table. Diana picked it up. "It's Elizabeth," she said before passing it to him. Peter groaned and shooed them all out. He tossed Nora back her rubber band ball before she left.

* * *

Peter answered the phone. "Hey," he said slowly. "Would you believe me if I said I was pulling up in front of the house now?"

Elizabeth laughed. "You lost track of time. It happens." There was no hint of anger or sadness in her voice. She understood.

"I hope you didn't make dinner," he sighed.

"Did you forget who you married?" she asked. He could hear the smile in her voice. "I am smarter than that." Peter smiled. _God, I love her. _"So, how's Nora doing?"

Peter laughed. "It's been interesting to say the least. And only mildly infuriating," he added. Elizabeth giggled.

"Is she helping?"

Peter hesitated. "We're on to something here, El," he sighed.

"So I won't wait up." More understanding.

"I'm leaving," he assured her. "Ten minutes, I promise. Twenty at the most."

"I know."

"Bye, hon." They hung up without another word. Peter sighed, stepping through the door at the back of the room into his office. He just needed to get his things in order, then he would leave, he told himself. He glanced down to the bullpen.

Diana, Jones, and Nora were all at their desks, but he could see them talking. Nora was smiling her charming smile, and he could tell that his agents were laughing at whatever she was saying. When he had first decided to take the deal, he had no idea how the other agents would get along with her, and vice versa. He had warned them that she was slick, to take everything she said with a grain of salt. And he was sure Jones and Diana were doing just that. But they also seemed to have gotten off on the right foot. Maybe things wouldn't be as bad as he had feared.

He stepped out of his office. The light in the office next to his was still on. Hughes always worked late. He knocked on the door.

"Come in." Hughes sat down a pen as Peter stepped in and motioned for him to sit. He did. "How's it going?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the bullpen, where their agents sat happily chatting with their convict.

"Better than I had worried," Peter admitted. Hughes studied him passively for a moment, waiting for Peter to continue. "It's just… kind of unbelievable. In one day, we've made more progress with the Dutchman than we've made in months."

"And you think it's because of Caffrey?"

"I do. I'm not going to tell _her_ that, of course," he laughed.

"I'm glad this is working out, Peter," Hughes said. He meant it, but he also seemed like he was still withholding judgment, like he was waiting to see how things played out for a while before coming to a conclusion. If Peter was smart, he would do the same.


	8. A Friend

Chapter Eight

A Friend

Nora was tired. Her head drooped a little on the head rest in the passenger side of Peter's car. She stared dreamily out the window, eyes dull, relaxed.

"Any plans for the weekend?" she asked in a soft voice, perhaps trying to keep herself from falling asleep. He decided to humor her.

"Oh, you know, I gotta fix the sink, catch the game..."

She turned her eyes to Peter, confused. "With Elizabeth?"

"Yeah," Peter laughed. "Yeah, she's into it. How cool is that? She likes to watch the Giants." Nora rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, sure," she agreed half-heartedly. "Even on your anniversary?" Peter slammed on the breaks. Nora jerked forward, then slammed back into her seat. Her eyes were wide. She was certainly awake again.

"I see this stuff coming from six months out," he hissed, "then I take it in the teeth every time."

"Relax," she panted, hand over her heart. "You still have a few days."

"No," he sighed. "This is what happened last year. I said I would make up for it with something special. Not just a corner booth at Donatella's-" Someone honked as they passed the stopped car. "-and a romp in the sheets."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, Romeo, let's problem-solve. What's she into?"

"Sexually?" Peter blurted out, confused how that was going to help.

Nora made a face. "Ew. No. Emotionally. Existentially. What makes her tick, makes her happy, makes her feel _alive_?"

Peter thought about that for a moment. It was as if everything he knew about his wife was erased from memory in an instant. He shook his head slowly. "I'm drawing a blank."

She looked at him incredulously. "How could you _not_ know?" she asked pointedly. "When you were chasing me, you knew my shoe size, my favorite color, what time I woke up in the morning-"

"That's the job," Peter protested, but as he said it, he realized that wasn't the point.

"So a relationship isn't work?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. _Twisting my words._

"Oh, no. No," he huffed. "You don't get to lecture me on relationships. My wife didn't change her identity and flee the country to get away from me."

He had gone too far, he realized. He could see the hurt in her eyes. Her lips were pressed tight together. Another car honked at him, and he started driving again. He glanced over, but she was turned away from him, staring out the window.

"That was harsh," he apologized. "I… I didn't mean that."

She gave him a pointed look. "Yeah, you did." Her tone was clipped, curt. He could believe this wasn't an act; he had hurt her feelings. After a moment, she asked in a small voice, "Did he really flee the country?" Peter glanced over. She was chewing on her lower lip.

"I don't know," Peter admitted.

"France?" she asked. "Did he go to France?"

"I _don't _know," he repeated. The last thing he wanted to do was get Nora started down a path of looking for Kyle. Nothing good would come of it. _The bottle meant goodbye_, he reminded himself, and hoped that she remembered that too. "What am I going to do?" he asked, thinking that maybe she wasn't as upset with him as he had thought.

She pursed her lips and turned away from him pointedly. "Nope. No more relationship advice from this side of the car." Peter sighed. "Wouldn't want her to change her identity and flee the country, would we?"

* * *

Perhaps being angry at Peter was a bit childish. She could tell he really did feel bad about it, but that didn't change what he had said. She pouted the rest of the ride home, refusing to talk to him. She would apologize in the morning and try and help him with his problems then. When they arrived back at June's she shut the car door behind her without a single word.

It was late, and it was dark in the house. She figured June must have already gone to bed. She was climbing up the stairs when she heard it. A soft trickling coming from the dark living room. She froze. Listening. Someone was there.

She turned and slowly stepped down the stairs again. It was somewhat stupid, she realized as she grabbed a cane out of the umbrella stand. She wasn't a particularly strong woman. Somewhat above average, she guessed. Maybe a bit more athletic than some due to her profession. But what use would she be if there was an armed intruder?

But she wasn't afraid. Fear of people lurking in the shadows could get you in trouble in her line of work. Sometimes it was best to just face them head on and roll with the punches. She crept forward.

"I saw the best minds of my generation get run down by the drunken taxi cab of absolute reality," the intruder said suddenly from the shadow. The voice was very familiar, and Nora lowered the cane, reaching for the light switch.

"What the _hell_, Mozzie?" she demanded. The short, bald man smiled up at her fondly. "Sitting in the dark, misquoting Getsburg?" She walked up to him, her heart still beating furiously in her chest.

"The light's how they find ya, sweetheart." Finally, Nora smiled and hugged Mozzie tightly.

"I've missed you so much, Moz," she admitted. He hugged her back, patting her somewhat awkwardly on the shoulder.

"And I you." He took a sip of the drink he had poured himself.

"You know, you can't just help yourself here," she scolded him. "And how'd you get in?" She took a seat in the chair next to him.

He held up a fist. "I used this." She looked at him skeptically. "I knocked," he clarified. "I introduced myself to June. She's great, by the way."

Nora smiled in agreement. "Thank you for coming."

"What was I going to do?" he asked. "_Not _come?" He paused for a moment, studying Nora. It had been a long four years without the quirky little man. She hadn't asked him to visit her in prison; he would have, but he would have been very uncomfortable. They exchanged the occasional letter, but it hadn't been quite the same. "Can I see?" He gestured to her leg.

She propped it up on a chair and lifted the pant leg up a few inches to reveal the tracking anklet. A cheerful looking green light shone up at them. He grimaced at it. "Ugly, I know." She hesitated. "Think you're able to pick it?" she asked with curiosity. She didn't know if she was ready to make an escape yet, but it would be nice to know her options.

Mozzie regarded it for a moment, his eyes flashing as he ran through his extensive knowledge of locks and tools for unlocking them. Finally he shook his head. "No way." His expression was morose. "No way. You flew too close to the sun, my friend. They burned your wings."

Nora sighed, lowering her leg. That was about what she expected, honestly. Maybe it was for the best. If she knew he could, the temptation would be maddening, and it was too early to make rash decisions. She changed the subject. "Have you heard anything from Kyle?" There was a quiet desperation in her voice. "Where did he go?"

"He's a ghost, Nora. We taught him how to disappear, and he did an excellent job of melting away."

She barked out a humorless laugh. "I guess we taught him a little too well."

Mozzie nodded, taking another sip. "I suppose the lesson here is, don't teach someone to disappear unless your _prepared_ for them to disappear."

"Well, keep looking," Nora sighed. She remembered her conversation with Peter. "Check France."

"France?" Mozzie deadpanned. "You want me to check an entire country?"

She sighed again. "I know, it's... stupid," she admitted. "Just… look everywhere." They sat in silence for a long moment. She remembered the bond in her purse. "Something else. I need you to help me figure out who created this," she said as she pulled the bond out and handed it over to him.

He looked it over, nodding in admiration at the skill. "It's superb," he acknowledged, lifting his glasses onto his forehead. "You-quality work." Nora smiled at the compliment. "You know the worst thing about art forgery?" he mused. "You can't take credit for your own work."

Nora paused. She remembered the bonds she had forged. It was a fond memory; they had been masterpieces. _And I signed them_. Mozzie had called it arrogance, when she told him. And, as he loved to remind her, arrogance was her folly. This guy was good. _When you're that good, you're arrogant_.

"He signed it, Moz," she said, snatching the bond back and looking over it again. "I just need to find it."


	9. Elizabeth

Chapter Nine

Elizabeth

Nora had spent have the night pouring over the bond with a magnifying glass. Mozzie had stayed with her, offering suggestions and keeping her from falling asleep on their evidence. Her neck and back ached, and her eyes were dry and tired, but in the end, she finally had it. Mozzie was convinced, though that wasn't surprising. He was as tired as she was and wanted to sleep. She didn't blame him. It was nearly two in the morning.

Sleep. She would get a few hours of sleep, and would tell Peter what she had found first thing in the morning. As she crawled into bed, exhaustion hit her like a wave. But she found it hard to succumb to it. Maybe it was the anklet knocking against her leg with every small movement, itching and catching on the blanket. Or maybe she was just so keyed up from the case. If she was being honest, this crime-solving thing was actually pretty fun. Something she could get used to.

In prison, she hadn't had much of a chance to flex her criminal muscles, so to speak. Sure, she could plan heists in her mind, but they were all theoretical and solitary. She didn't have anyone to talk _to_ about the things that interested her. Most of the women on the inside were there for vastly different reasons than she was, and while they were okay for idle girl talk, they wouldn't have been interested in planning pretend heists to pass the time.

_Solving_ them, however, seemed to scratch the same itch. Talking about motive and means with Peter and his agents, and now even Mozzie, was essentially just doing what she was good at, in reverse. How did they do it? How would I have done it if I were them? What would my goal have been? It was oddly satisfying. _Maybe four years of this wouldn't be too bad_, she thought as she finally drifted off to sleep.

She woke up bright and early the next morning to the smell of June's coffee. She stretched luxuriously before climbing out of bed. After four years of a cramped, thin twin prison mattress, the queen-sized bed June's guest room had come with was basically Heaven. Finally, she managed to drag herself out of bed and pulled on a robe.

She kept breakfast simple. Just a cup of yogurt, a banana, and coffee. A big breakfast was nice, but it made her sleepy. She wanted to be as alert and ready to go as possible. After taking her time to read the paper while she waited for her anklet's charging light to turn from orange to green, she went to shower and get dressed. It was a chilly early spring day, and the sky looked somewhat dreary still after the rain the night before.

She chose a simple pair of black slacks, a white collared shirt, and a light gray sweater to go over top. She didn't do anything fancy with her hair, just pulled it up in a neat bun. After quickly applying her makeup and giving herself a quick once-over in the mirror, she decided she was ready for the day.

Back out in her room, she realized she didn't know when Peter was coming to get her. She had stormed out the night before, angry with his comment about Kyle. She checked the time. It was already past seven. Maybe he wanted to sleep in?

_I know his address_, she remembered. She had sent him birthday cards from prison every year. The address was a bit outside of her radius… _But I can go out as long as I'm with an agent._ And if she was at Peter's, she _would_ be with an agent.

Her mind made up, she headed out to hail a cab.

The Burkes' house was charming. Somewhat modest, but it fit the image of Peter outside of work that she had built up in her head. Peter the family man, with his beautiful wife and their dog. She smiled and took a breath. What would he say when he opened the door and found her standing on the other side? _Nothing good_, she decided, but she was already there.

All that was left was to knock.

Elizabeth Burke opened the door. She smiled at first, then looked at her with confusion, recognition. "You're Nora Caffrey." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," she said, offering her hand. Elizabeth shook it with a small, curious smile. "You must be Elizabeth. It's lovely to meet you."

She stepped aside and gestured for Nora to come in. Nora looked around as the entered, taking in the simple, but tasteful – and definitely picked by Elizabeth – furnishings and décor. A yellow lab came trotting over, tongue hanging out, looking for pets. Nora scratched his head happily.

"That's Satchmo," Elizabeth said, closing the door. "Does Peter know you're here?"

"Not… yet," she admitted. Elizabeth nodded, stifling a laugh.

"That's awfully brave of you." Nora grinned. Elizabeth motioned her to the couch, and Nora took a seat. "Peter's in the shower, but he should be down soon. Would you like some coffee?"

"Oh, that would be great, thank you." Elizabeth disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared a moment later with a steaming mug. Nora took a sip. It wasn't bad.

"So, what is so worth braving my husband's anger that you decided to come all the way here without letting him know?"

Nora pulled the forgery out of her purse. "This is from our case. It's a really good forgery," she explained as Elizabeth examined it with curiosity. "I got to thinking last night, you don't get this good at forging without getting an ego to go with it. He's talented, so he's arrogant."

"Speaking from personal experience," she guessed.

"Perhaps," Nora dodged. "Anyway, he's arrogant. This bond is a masterpiece. Someone like the Dutchman, he couldn't help but sign it. I spent hours looking for a signature, and I think I found it."

Elizabeth looked more closely, eyes squinted as she combed over the Goya. "I don't see anything."

"Of course not," Nora laughed. "Here, let me show you." She pulled out a mirror from her purse and positioned it where she had found the signature the night before. She pointed. "Right there. CH."

Elizabeth squinted again. "Okay, I see it, but don't you think that could just be a coincidence?"

"Not if our forger's name is Curtis Hagen."

"Which you think it is?" Nora smiled. "Well, I think Peter is going to be impressed." Elizabeth took a sip of her coffee, leaning back on the couch.

"You are very different from your husband," Nora noted, leaning back as well.

Elizabeth laughed. "You think so?"

"I'm curious. How did you meet?"

"I worked at an art gallery years ago. It got robbed, and Peter was the case agent on the investigation." She laughed again, remembering the story. "He was so nervous when he talked to me, and I could tell he wanted to ask me out, but he just couldn't work up the nerve. He ended up putting me under surveillance to try and figure out what kinds of things I liked. I eventually gave him a hint, and he finally asked me out. The rest is history."

Nora smiled, sipping on her coffee. "How romantic," she said. It was very different from how she had met Kyle… She pushed the memory away before she could start dwelling on it.

There was the sound of hurried footsteps down the stairs. "El, I've got to go. Nora's outside her radius-" He stopped dead as Nora and Elizabeth looked up at him like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. His jaw was tight for a moment as he stared at them, cell phone pressed to his ear. Someone spoke on the other end. "Caffrey is with me," he said after a long silence. "Yeah. Yeah." He hung up the phone and made his way into the living room.

"Good morning, honey," El said, voice bright and cheerful.

"Peter," Nora greeted with a charming smile.

"You're on my couch," he said, dumbfounded. He was angry, but perhaps not as angry as Nora had been afraid of.

"Yeah," she admitted, "I came to talk to you. And, frankly Peter, I have to say that I'm surprised you have such an amazing wife." Elizabeth smiled, sipping on her coffee and enjoying the show.

"Yeah, I like her," Peter managed with a forced smile. "Get off my couch."

"Honey," Elizabeth injected, "we were just chatting." Peter didn't seem to care.

"Chatting," he repeated. "How did you get here?"

"Cab."

"You activated your _tracker_," Peter scolded, pointing at her sternly with one hand, the other on his hip like an angry parent. "You're in my house, on my couch, with my wife."

Satchmo began to whine in response to Peter's loud, angry tone. Nora turned to pet him, comforting him. "And now you're petting my dog," Peter said, exasperated.

"Did you really put Elizabeth under surveillance before you asked her out?" Nora asked. Peter's eyes widened. Elizabeth giggled. "Peter, I underestimated you."

"You told her?"

"Oh, he wanted to make sure I wasn't seeing anybody else," Elizabeth explained to Nora. She turned back to Peter. "Honey, I think it's cute."

"I think it's adorable," Nora agreed.

Peter pulled his phone back out and began dialing. "I'm putting you back in prison." Nora was pretty sure he was joking, but decided to stop messing around and get to the point.

"I know who the Dutchman is." Peter froze. Nora could hear the phone ringing. Maybe he wasn't joking. But that got Peter's attention.

"Enlighten me."

"Curtis Hagen." Peter ended the call before the person on the other end could pick up. He shrugged, an invitation for Nora to continue. "He's an art restorer. One of the best in the world, but his own work never took off. He's particularly good at _Goya_ restorations." It had been Mozzie who suggested Hagen. Nora had heard of him, but hadn't really thought to connect him to the bonds. "That's what this is, Peter," she asserted. "The bond is him showing off."

"Interesting theory," Peter conceded. "How do you prove it?" She smiled. He was on board.

"He signed it."

"I think we might have noticed a signature tucked in the corner."

Elizabeth grinned. "Show him."

Nora motioned toward the bond with the mirror still positioned on top. "Look at the pants on the Spanish peasant," she instructed as he sat down next to her. "What do you see?" Peter studied it for a moment, but didn't answer. "It's the initials C and H."

"I don't know," Peter sighed, still squinting at the bond. "That's a stretch."

"This bond is a masterpiece. If I had done something this good, I would have signed it," Nora admitted. "I mean, the forgeries you caught me on, I signed them."

That was news to Peter, clearly. She had already been convicted for them, so there was no harm in admitting to it now. Of course they hadn't noticed it then, though maybe if they had, her trial might not have drug out so long. "Where?" Peter asked, curiosity piqued.

Nora sighed impatiently. "Look at the bank seal under polarized light some time." Peter cringed, possibly beating himself for not thinking of that a long time ago. "Hagen is doing a church restoration on Third Street. We can stop by on our way in," she suggested.

Peter considered this for a moment. "Fine. Meet me in the car." Nora didn't move. "I'm going to say goodbye to my wife now."

"Oh, right." She stood, grabbing her jacket, and turned to Elizabeth. "It was nice to meet you," she said, shaking Elizabeth's hand again.

"Nice to meet you, too," she agreed, sincerely, Nora thought. "After all these years."

* * *

Peter watched Nora go before turning back to his wife. She shrugged and flashed a teasing smile that lit up her eyes. "She was charming," she noted as Peter turned to put on his jacket.

"Yeah. That's one word." _Infuriating is another_. "Why didn't you come and get me when she showed up at our door?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Well, I knew you would have been angry, and made her leave, and I kind of wanted to talk to her for a bit."

"Why?" What did Elizabeth want with his CI?

"Well, you spent so long chasing her and obsessing over her case, I kind of built up this mental image of her over the years. I wanted to see if it was true to life."

"And?"

She thought about that for a moment. "She seems nice." Peter rolled his eyes. "I don't think it was an act, hon. She wasn't trying to get anything, she didn't have some evil plot that involved tricking me. I like her."

"Great," Peter huffed. She smiled again, straightening up his jacket and his tie.

"When you decided to take her deal, I'll admit, I was worried. She's so beautiful, after all. And devious, and flirty."

"Hon, I would never-"

"I know you wouldn't," she reassured him, pressing her hands against his chest. "I was worried about what she might _try_ to do. The thought of some woman trying to seduce you…" She shook her head, but her smile didn't drop. "But, after meeting her, I feel like it's not something I have to worry about anymore. Does that make sense?"

Peter thought for a moment. "Yeah, that makes sense." Peter had worried about that too, but the more time he spent with Nora, the more sure he felt that that was the wrong thing to be worrying about. Her running after Kyle? Sure. Her doing something stupid and ending up back in prison? Maybe. But she wasn't going to try and seduce him. She was smart enough to know that it wouldn't work anyway.

El kissed him quickly. "I'll see you when you get home, hon."

He smiled. "Love you, hon."


	10. Goya

Chapter Ten

Goya

The car ride was awkward, to say the least. Nora kept sneaking looks over at Peter while he pointedly ignored her. She realized, of course, that she had crossed a line, literally and figuratively. Nora was part of his work life. She wasn't supposed to be part of his home life. She had activated her tracker, and it would have been well within Peter's rights to haul her back off to prison.

But he didn't. That was something, right? She sighed and prepared to swallow her pride. "Peter, I'm sorry."

"What for?" he asked skeptically.

"It was rude and inappropriate of me to come to your home uninvited. And slightly illegal."

"Very illegal," he corrected.

"Right. I won't do it again. Thank you for not arresting me." That one hurt. She understood how precarious her position was, but Peter's anger was making the weight of it really start to set in. She didn't know what part bothered her more; the fact that she was thanking someone for not arresting her, or the fact that she had admitted to herself that she would have deserved it if he had.

"Don't worry about it," he said simply, surprising her. _What, no lecture_? "I should have figured it was just a matter of time anyway."

"I guess I really didn't think it through," she admitted.

Peter laughed, relaxing some. "Oh, you think so?" She rolled her eyes. "You're impulsive and reckless by nature, Nora. You never think things through."

"I disagree," she pouted.

"Really? I think the fact that your sitting here right now with a tracking device, not walking free, begs to differ."

She didn't have an argument for that. "Circumstantial," she muttered. He laughed again.

"Look, how about I make you a deal?" She didn't say anything, just quietly waited for him to continue, blue eyes curious and guarded. "If we make this situation permanent after closing this case, I'll make a call and have my house exempted from your radius."

"What does that mean?" she asked slowly.

"It means you would be able to go to and from my house without an agent, without setting off your tracker."

"You can do that?!"

He laughed again. "Yes, I can do that."

She thought about it for a moment. "_Why_?" That was awfully generous, considering he was angry at her for doing exactly that not ten minutes before.

He sighed and didn't answer for a moment, perhaps trying to think of a way to put it into words. "Well, in theory, if you're at my house, I'm going to be with you. I don't want to have to make a phone call every time you show up on my door step."

"I appreciate that, Peter," she said.

He looked over at her, eyes serious. "This isn't a privilege I'm giving you lightly," he warned her. "I hope you understand that."

She nodded. "I do."

"Good. And, just so we're clear, if anything comes up missing from my house, you are my prime suspect."

"I'm not going to steal from you, Peter," she sighed. He clearly wasn't sure if he believed that or not, but he let it go.

* * *

The church was beautifully decorated inside. Sheets of plastic covered some parts of the walls where they were working on the restoration. Men milled about, busy at work. It was going to look wonderful when the restoration was done, Nora decided.

"This is it?" Peter asked, looking around.

"Yup."

A man, the church's priest, walked up to them quickly. "You can't come in," he told them. "We're closed for restoration."

"Oh, sorry Father," Peter said, turning to leave. Nora rolled her eyes and stepped toward the priest.

"Excuse me, could we just talk for a moment, Father?" Peter turned and eyed her suspiciously. She held up a hand as if to say, 'hang on, I got this.' Peter sighed in exasperation as Nora led the priest a little ways away.

"Please, Father. My dear uncle," she said, holding a hand up over her heart, "he's having a crisis of the soul. He loves my aunt, so much, but he has the most devastatingly beautiful assistant at work. She's a very provocative woman. He's been tempted."

The priest sighed, nodding slowly with sympathy. "It's very common with men his age. Unfortunately, very common."

"And I want to confront him before he tears his life apart and breaks my aunt's heart. He has a lot of faults," she said, looking back at him. He smiled back awkwardly, clueless. "But he is very spiritual. I know this is the place where my words will have the most effect."

The priest shifted, uncomfortable. "This is the _city_ of churches, dear," he said. "We're closed. Surely another place-"

"This is where he was married," she said simply.

The priest sighed again. She had put him in a tough spot. He checked his watch. "Alright, child. Five minutes."

"Thank you. Thank you, Father," she said with the kindest smile she could manage. He nodded and wandered away. She returned to Peter, who waved his thanks to the priest. "Alright, we've got five minutes."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Did you just lie to a priest?"

She considered this for a second. "Do you think Diana is attractive?"

"Sure," Peter shrugged.

"Then… no, not really." He didn't press. He probably didn't want to know.

They made their way quickly to the front of the church and stopped before a painting that none of the men were swarmed around. Nora took a moment to appreciate it. "Extraordinary," she breathed.

"Real nice." Typical Peter. Nora stepped over the gate that blocked the painting to get a better look. Peter followed, choosing to open the gate instead. "Well, if this Hagen guy is as good as you say," he said, "how come I've never heard of him?"

"_You_ only know about the guys who get caught," she said, examining the painting. "You know, the second best criminals."

Peter chuckled. "What's that say about you?"

She glared at him for a moment. "It means there's an exception to every rule." Her voice dripped with sass. Peter knew she was one of the best. She didn't have anything to prove. She returned her attention to the painting. _Where are you_? she thought, scanning the tiny details that would be easily overlooked. "Look." She found it. A pattern on a dress, one section just a tiny bit different than all the others. "C and H."

She pulled out the mirror again and held it up. "Where?" Peter asked, stepping over to see.

She pointed. "Right here. Right… C and H."

He squinted. "Maybe."

She rolled her eyes again. "What do you mean 'maybe?' That is a C and an H."

"Can I help you?" a voice asked from behind. It was British. They spun around to see a man walking their way, eyes suspicious. They started moving away from the painting. He stared at Nora for a moment. "Your face… it's very familiar." Nora's breath caught. "Maybe I've seen it on the news or perhaps a most wanted web page?"

She was caught. Doing what she did best and rolling with it, she flashed a charming smile and offered out her hand. "Nora Caffrey."

He looked at her like she was something gross stuck to the bottom of his shoe. "You'll excuse me if I don't shake hands with an art thief."

Her smile didn't waver. "I was never arrested for art theft," she corrected. It was splitting hairs, she knew, but the fact that, despite the litany of charges against her, they could only get the bond forgery to stick was something of a point of pride to her. She wasn't going to let someone take that from her.

"Not arrested," he allowed, "but as I recall, you were known as quite the Renaissance criminal. So you can understand my concern at having you in my space." She wanted to tell him she wouldn't waste her time on his art, but held her tongue. It wouldn't help their case. He turned his focus to Peter, looking him up and down. "And, you are?"

Peter shrugged. "Just a friend."

"Well, _friend_. This church is closed." He gestured to the door. They left without another word, Nora raising her empty palms as if to say, 'see, I didn't steal anything.' Once they were out of ear shot, Nora leaned in close to Peter.

"Did you see it?"

"Okay, you've got me curious," Peter admitted. "We'll check him out."

They passed the priest. "Listen to the spirit, son," he said to Peter, "not the flesh."

Nora barely stifled a laugh at Peter's lost expression. "I'll do that," he promised. "What was that about?" Nora shrugged, feigning innocence.

Once in the car, Peter took a long moment to look at her before starting the engine. She smiled back, unsure what he was doing. "Seriously," he said, "what did you say to the priest?"

She sighed. "Does it matter?"

"Probably not," he admitted. "But I'm curious."

"You won't like it," she said.

"That sounds like your problem, not mine." He continued to stare at her expectantly. She was dodging the question almost out of instinct. And he would have realized that too. He wasn't letting her off the hook. Something she would likely have to learn to live with.

"I told him that you were my uncle who I was confronting about being tempted by a beautiful assistant at work."

To her surprise, Peter laughed a little as he shifted the car into drive and took off. It seemed more like a laugh out of exasperation than a laugh out of actual humor, but it was better than she had been expecting. "Only you," he mused.

"I'm sure lots of people would have used the same story."

"Not everyone needs a story for everything, Nora. Some people tell the truth."

She rolled her eyes. "Sure, normal people. But in my line of work-"

He cut her off. "That's not your line of work anymore," he said firmly. "Get that through your head right now, because the longer it takes, the harder all of this is going to be." She didn't say anything. "Do you know what the point of this is? Of the prison, the anklet, the random desk searches?"

"Of course I do," she sighed. "I broke the law. Prison was my punishment. I broke out. The anklet is my punishment as long as I'm good. Our actions have consequences, yada yada yada. I've heard this speech before. I get it." She leaned her head on her hand, staring sullenly out the window.

"No, you don't get it. It's not just about punishment. It's about rehabilitation. When your four years are up, whether you spend them in prison or with me, you have a choice to make. Are you going to walk out the door a changed person who's paid their debt to society, or are you going to be the same con you've always been?"

She thought about this and opened her mouth to speak. "Don't answer," he snapped, cutting her off. "You have a very long time to think about that. I'm going to give you a little bit more to think about. No one can make your decision for you. Not me, not whatever criminal friends you might have, just you. The decision you make is the one you're going to live with for the rest of your life. It has to be the one _you _can live with. No matter what anyone else thinks about it. Would I like to know that, in the end, the years of my life spent on you made a difference? Sure. But it's not about what I want or how I feel. Don't make the easy choice just because it's easy. Make sure you're making the _right_ choice."

"That's very deep, Peter," she said after a long silence. "Did you read that out of a book for parents of troubled teens?"

Peter shook his head. "Of course you can't be serious for five seconds." Neither of them said any more. Peter was angry. Nora was, honestly, contemplating what he had said. She was an adult. He didn't have to lecture her about morality and consequences. But part of her wondered if all of that was just the FBI agent talking, or if it came from a place of deeper concern.

It hardly mattered. _As he said, I've still got four long years to think about it_.


	11. One Week

Chapter Eleven

One Week

After arriving at the Bureau, Peter told Nora to get to work on some paperwork at her desk. He was still angry, clearly, and she decided it would be best to let it blow over. She knew why he was mad, obviously, but even if she was inclined to change her ways, he couldn't possibly have expected it to happen over night. She got the feeling that, if they caught Hagen and her deal became permanent, Nora being herself would account for the majority of the things that Peter got mad about.

So, he left her to her boring paperwork for a couple hours while he worked in his office. Agents milled about, chatting, working, getting coffee. She was able to go get coffee as she pleased, though it was basically coffee-scented tar. Sometimes an agent would stop to introduce themselves or chat. They were helpful when she had a question about the paperwork she had been given, taking the time to explain it and help if she had made any mistakes.

They all knew who she was. It was no secret, and she owned it. They would ask about her crimes, and she would dodge the questions. Some asked about her time in prison, or her escape. She kept it light.

The office was very different from prison. In prison, every aspect of your day was planned out, out of your control for the most part. Every day was basically the same, unless someone decided they wanted to fight for some reason or another. Nora rarely had that problem. In the office, though, she could get up and move freely. The work was boring, but it was at least something to do. At the end of the day, she knew she would return to her lovely apartment at June's, not a cramped cell.

As she was musing about all of this, an agent came over to tell her Peter wanted to talk. She glanced up at his office. He was watching her, though he didn't look angry anymore. "Thanks," she said with a smile, and headed up the stairs.

"Close the door," he said as she entered. She did. "I need your help with this." He laid out a file as Nora took a seat across from him. She picked up the file.

"Is this information on Hagen?" she asked.

"No," he admitted. "Diana is on her way with that." She took a look at the papers.

She looked at Peter in disbelief when she realized what she was looking at. "This is your wife's visa bill."

"Yeah," Peter said, pleased with himself. "I've got it all; eBay bids, video rentals, library books. Thank you, Patriot Act."

She blinked. "So… You're stalking your own wife."

"You want to compare notes?" he asked pointedly. Of course, Peter knew how long she had spent trying to track down Kyle before he had caught her the first time.

"Touche." She looked over the files some more. "You figure out what she likes?"

"Yeah. It's all in the summary. Pottery making, Nancy Drew mysteries, scented candles – Oleander. Old jazz. Anything Italian except anchovies."

Nora cut him off. "Yeah, I don't think you're going to find your answer in a list of her eBay bids. These are all _things_ she likes, not _who _she is. As a person."

"Then help me out here." He sounded desperate. "You're the romantic. I mean, what's the deal with the bottle?"

Nora shrugged, trying not to think to much about it. "It's an '82 Bordeaux."

"Yeah, costs eight hundred bucks a pop."

"It does when it's full," she corrected. "I got it empty."

"Empty?"

Nora didn't answer. Peter had made it very clear that dwelling on Kyle was going to get her in trouble. Yet, here he was, probing for an explanation. She sighed. "Look, when Kyle and I met, we had nothing. We lived payday to payday. Job to job. I got that bottle, and I would fill it up with whatever cheap boxed wine I could afford. We would sit in that crappy apartment and drink it over stale pizza and pretend we were living in the Cote d'Azur."

"How did that work for you?" Peter asked. It wasn't an unfriendly question, but it stung regardless.

"It didn't," she admitted, dropping her eyes to her lap for a moment, thoughtful. "That bottle was a promise of a better life. Instead, all Kyle got was a girl locked away for half a decade." She was silent for a moment. Peter's eyes were thoughtful, like something in her story had touched him. "Have you made Elizabeth any promises lately, Peter? Or do you think all she wants is Oleander candles?"

Peter didn't get a chance to answer before there was a soft knock on the door. "Hey, Diana," he said as she opened the door. "What've you got?"

She rushed in and came around Peter's desk, laying papers out in front of him. "Hagen is leaving the country," she announced. "He booked a flight through a private charter company in Barcelona for the 19th."

Peter rubbed his temple. "One week. Damn it, Nora." He shook his head. "Seeing you must have tipped him off."

"He's going to Spain," she argued. "That's _something_."

Peter ignored her. "Is there any connection to our books, the bonds, or the murder?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Hagen's impressive as hell," she said. "A lot of international holdings, but he keeps himself out of the muck."

"Get every available agent on this," Peter demanded. "You know the good ones; steal them if you have to. I want to know every single thing about this guy and I don't want any excuse. Anything gets in your way-"

"-forge your signature," Diana finished. She smiled wryly. "Always do."

"That's what I want to hear," he told her. She bustled out again, on her way to carry out Peter's orders. Once she was gone, Peter stood. He seemed to have aged ten years during that one conversation. He turned back to Nora. "If you're right about Hagen, we have one week to connect him to the bond." He held her gaze. His eyes were unreadable. "If we lose him on the 19th… Nora, if we lose him, you're back in. I can't save you."

Nora felt like everything was crashing down around her. She had a week to solve this case. Otherwise there was no more coffee, no more June, no more Peter or uncomfortable anklet. Game over.

* * *

She walked into June's that night, heavy. The rest of the day at work, all she could think about was everything she stood to lose if Hagen got away. She tried to focus on the paperwork, but the thoughts just kept creeping back in.

"You're late." She had barely stepped foot into her apartment.

"Give me a break, Moz," she said, flipping the light on. "I'm a working woman now."

"So?" he asked, sipping the wine he had helped himself to. She sat down across from him, helping her self to a glass as well.

"We were right about Hagen," she said, opting to start with the good news.

"Of course we were right," Mozzie said. He hadn't had any doubt.

She moved on to the bad news. "And I was stupid, and impulsive-"

"As you do," he added, cutting her off. Nora glared at him.

"-and he saw me." She swallowed hard and took a breath to steady her voice; it threatened to crack. "I have one week to link him to the bonds."

Mozzie froze. "One week or _what_?" He had to have known the answer already.

"Or it's over. I go back." This time, her voice did crack.

"No no no," he muttered, shaking his head slowly. It was almost childish.

"Yeah." Silence hung in the air. _I can't do four more years, Moz_, she wanted to say, but she knew if she did, she would start to break apart. She changed the subject. "Did you find anything about Kyle?"

"Ah!" he said, and reached for something on the table. Hopefully he had better news than she had. "Apparently, if a tree falls in the forest, it _does_ make a sound." He slid a paper across the table to her, looking pleased with himself.

It was a photograph. She studied it. Kyle's face looked back at her. It wasn't a happy face. A man's hand with a ring was clamped tightly on his shoulder, and Kyle's eyes were cast off to the side, looking at the person holding him.

Nora sighed deeply, eyes fixed on the picture. "I'm gonna lose him again, Moz."

"Lose him?" he asked, confused. "I just _found_ him."

She flipped the photo around. "So did he," she said, jabbing the hand on his shoulder. "So did he."


	12. Rumor

Chapter Twelve

Rumor

Nora and Peter walked down the sidewalk, headed into the office. She'd had a long night with very little sleep. Between the thought of going back to prison, and the thought of losing Kyle all over again, she had been worked up and restless. She had barely eaten in the morning, dressed simply, and hadn't bothered with makeup at all.

She had been wrestling with the idea of telling Peter about Kyle all morning. Maybe, if she was honest, he would be more inclined to help. Maybe he would appreciate her trying to do things his way instead of hers. Or, maybe he wouldn't.

In the end, she caved. "Remember when you told me not to look for Kyle," she said casually, as if it was just any old conversation topic.

"Yeah..." he said slowly. Just from his tone, she could tell it was not going to go her way. But, it was too late. She had already brought it up. _Roll with it_. Instead of speaking, which she noted tended to make Peter angry, she simply handed him the photo. Well, part of the photo. The part with the man with the ring was missing. Peter didn't need to know about that part.

He looked at the picture and sighed. "Nora, you're putting me in a tough spot here," he said.

"This was taken four days ago at a San Diego ATM," she explained. "He's going under the name Kyle Perdue. You know what 'perdue' means in French?"

"Yeah," Peter said, "it means lost." He shoved the picture back into Nora's hands.

"Yeah! It makes you wonder, right?" Her eyes clouded over with thought. "Is he lost _to_ me? Or _without_ me?"

"Stop it," Peter snapped.

"Look, I just need a couple of days," she plead. "After this Dutchman thing is over, a couple of days to go to San Diego. You can send an agent with me… You could come with me!"

"Stop it!" he repeated. "Stop it, stop it." He huffed, shaking his head. "How many times are you going to screw your life up over this guy? I hate to break it to you, but he _dumped you_. With prejudice." His voice took a softer tone. "He's not worth you losing everything you're working for right now." Nora looked down at the picture. "Exactly what is your plan if you find him?"

She didn't have an answer. Peter waited, expectant. She couldn't dodge this question. "I know there's more to our story, Peter." Her eyes were filling with tears that may or may not have been genuine. "He… he disappears into the dust? No. That's not an ending. That not _our_ ending."

Peter put a hand on her shoulder. The anger had left his eyes, but they were still firm. "C'mon, don't do this to yourself. We've all been there. It gets easier."

"Not if he's the one, Peter." Peter sighed. "I brought this to you," she reminded him. "Doesn't that count for _anything_?"

"No," he said flatly. "We made a deal. I gave you something good here, and you're about to blow it."

She looked away from his eyes, collecting herself. "Maybe you're right," she said, voice wistful. She laughed softly, without humor, blinking away the fake tears in her eyes. "You're right, Peter. I'm a smart girl. I should know when I've been dumped." Peter didn't look convinced, but he said nothing further. They kept walking.

That had gone poorly. _So much for honesty being the best policy_, she thought bitterly. _Lying works so much better_. She decided to change the subject. "Have you figured out your anniversary plans yet?"

Peter had to have seen through her attitude change, and her attempt to redirect, but he went with it. "I'm getting close. Very close."

She smiled. "So you've got nothing."

"Nothing," he agreed. "But, I'll find it." He was still saying something, but a figure in a crowd of smokers on the corner caught her eye. _Mozzie_? He glanced around, raising an eyebrow pointedly as if to say, 'it's about time.' She stopped.

"Um. Hey, I'm gonna go grab a smoke real quick," she said.

Peter stopped too, looking at her in confusion. "Since when do you smoke?"

She shifted uncomfortably, an act of course. "Ah, you know. It's a nasty prison habit. I've been trying to stop, but it's just so hard to kick."

He nodded and glanced around at the crowd. Jones stood there. "Jones," Peter called, getting his attention. "Keep an eye on her." Nora rolled her eyes, but couldn't blame Peter for sticking her with a babysitter. It would make talking to Mozzie more difficult, but not by much.

She walked over, rifling through her purse for a moment. She looked around, coming to a stop next to Mozzie. "Do you mind if I bum one?" she asked sweetly.

"These things'll kill ya, sweetheart" he said, pulling a cigarette case from his jacket and offering it to her.

"That's what I keep hearing," she said, "but I'm not dead yet."

She picked one at random. "But these filters," he said with a pointed look, "they're good. Not for me, you understand. I tear them off." She returned to looking through her purse, trying not laugh at how ridiculous he sounded.

"Hey, you need a light?" Jones asked, noticing her digging through her bag. She smiled gratefully.

"Thank you," she said as he lit the cigarette. _Well,_ she decided, _nothing to do now but smoke the damn thing._ She put it to her lips and breathed in. It tasted terrible. She didn't cough.

"You should try the patch," Jones added helpfully.

"Two years and counting, my friend," Mozzie injected. "I hate the tan lines." Jones nodded and turned away to finish his cigarette in silence.

Nora leaned over to Mozzie slightly. "You don't smoke," she reminded him quietly.

He rolled his eyes. "What was I supposed to do?" he whispered back. "Fire off a flare?"

She nodded slowly. "So, instead, you tear off the filters."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm hardcore," he said before taking a drag off the cigarette and proceeding to choke and sputter. She stifled a laugh, taking another drag herself, mostly just to show off. It really did taste atrocious. She would have the flavor stuck in her mouth all day, she realized, no matter how much FBI tar-coffee she drank.

Jones finished his cigarette, and waited silently for her. She smoked down what she guessed was a reasonable amount, and moved to ashtray to snuff it out. Jones was still watching her. After it was out, she palmed it, and turned back to him with a smile. "Shall we?" He returned her smile and nodded.

As they walked, she pocketed the cigarette butt. She turned to study him as they got in the elevator. He eyed her suspiciously. "I remember you, you know," she said as the doors slid shut.

"Is that so?" he asked.

"Yeah. You're the one who cuffed me when I was arrested. You said the van smelled bad." She grinned. He smiled cautiously.

"Yeah, that was me," he confirmed. He seemed uncomfortable.

"No hard feelings," she promised. He looked somewhat surprised. "Seriously. I get it. You were doing your job. Can't fault you for that."

"That's… very nice of you." He relaxed a little bit. "I'm sure most of the people I've cuffed would not agree."

She laughed. "I'm not most criminals," she reminded him. The elevator slowed to a stop and the door slid open with the soft _ding_. Jones straightened his tie, and the two of them stepped out.

Back at her desk, Nora checked to see that no one was paying particular attention to her before fishing the cigarette butt back out of her pocket. It was an ashy mess. _These filters are good_, Mozzie had said. _But not for me. I tear them off_.

She tore the filter off and started peeling it apart. A slip of paper was rolled up inside. After sweeping the cigarette butt into her trash bin, she unrolled the paper and read it. An address. She grinned. _Thank. You. Mozzie_! She quickly punched the address in to Google maps. The result was promising.

Her research didn't take long. It was all appropriate, legal, and work-related. She ran up to Peter's office, holding the slip of paper triumphantly.

She knocked hastily, but didn't wait for an answer before running in.

Peter grinned at her. "I found my bottle!" he announced, arms raised in victory.

She grinned back. "I found Hagen."

Peter was suddenly serious. "You first." She sat down.

"There's a warehouse, down by the docks," she explained. "Hagen runs it through a shell corporation out of Guatemala."

Peter's brow furrowed in confusion. "We didn't know about this," he told her. Not surprising. "How did you?"

Nora shrugged. "I don't think you rely on rumor as much as I do."

Peter nodded. This was what they needed. The last piece they needed to get Hagen. Nora could feel Peter's excitement as he stood and reached for his coat. "Let's go."


	13. Warrant Law

Chapter Thirteen

Warrant Law

Nora seemed to be bursting with excitement, Peter noticed as they got out of the car. She was grinning widely, eyes sparkling brightly as she drank in the details of the warehouse. He knew she was taking the case seriously. But, looking at the way she scrutinized every detail, chewing softly on her lower lip, he could see that she was having way too much fun with this.

It made sense. Peter knew she was childish. Breaking in somewhere, pulling the perfect heist or the perfect con was practically what she had lived for in the three years he had spent chasing her. It was a game to her. A challenge. She had an almost pathological need to prove how clever and cunning and talented she was, to prove she was the best. It was a strength and a weakness.

But this wasn't a game.

There were guards around the doors. Armed guards. Getting spotted would be bad, Peter decided. It would tip Hagen off, and he might close down shop sooner; they needed all the time they could get. Peter spared a glance at Nora, still scanning the area. His stomach twisted in a knot. _I don't want to send her back_, Peter realized very suddenly.

They needed to get closer. He decided to let her take the lead on this – sneaking was her area of expertise, after all. "Alright," Peter said. "Get us to the building without getting seen."

Her expression turned very serious, eyes calculating. She nodded slowly. "Okay. Stay low, and follow my lead." She began walking, crouched low. Despite being in high heels, her footsteps were silent, and he wondered for a moment how she managed that. _Years of practice_, he reminded himself.

He followed after her. The guards didn't notice them, or if they did, they were very convincing actors. It seemed that four years in prison hadn't made her lose her edge. Maybe it was like riding a bike.

It wasn't long before they were pressing themselves flat against a large bay door of the warehouse where no guards had been stationed. Peter's heart was racing. Nora pressed her ear against the door, eyes shut as she listened.

"Do you hear that?" she asked, eyes lighting up. Peter listened. He heard _something_, but couldn't place it. Clearly, she had an idea.

"Hear what?" he asked. It was like a _whoosh_ing, he decided.

"Kind of a rhythmic swish-swish," she said, illustrating what a _swish-swish_ was supposed to sound like with her hand. They stood silent for a moment, listening. "That's a press. Damn it, Peter, that's a _printing_ press. He's printing the bonds right now. You can hear him!"

"How long until he's done?" he asked. Peter might not have known what the sound was, but Nora certainly seemed to. It was, after all, her line of work.

She thought for a moment, twisting an end of her hair around her finger. "A multi-color print shop as complicated as the Goya… you've got test proofs, formulation, perfection registration…" She bit her lip, running the numbers in her head. "He'll be running it for days," she concluded.

Peter nodded, pulling out his cell phone. "Diana," he said when she picked up.

"Yeah, boss?"

"I need recording equipment down here immediately," he ordered.

"You got it." That's what he loved about Diana. Whatever he needed, she got it done. No questions, no ifs, ands, or buts.

"Come on," Peter sighed. "Let's get out of here."

Nora led them back the way they had come. The guards seemed none the wiser. In the car, she seemed almost zen, calm after the excitement of sneaking around. She smiled passively at nothing in particular. Peter decided not to ruin her mood. She was being quiet, which meant she wasn't getting into trouble, and that suited Peter just fine.

Back at the Bureau, it was time to wait. Diana had arranged the recording equipment as soon as they had gotten off the phone. Thankfully, it didn't take long to get a team to the docks and get back. Peter listened to what they had recorded. _Swish-swish_. After it was analyzed, they could even tell exactly what _type_ of printing press he was using, from the sound alone.

"I am on board," Peter told Nora. "Hagen is our guy." He shook his head. "But we still don't have enough for a warrant."

Nora shrugged. "We know the bonds are there," she argued. "Just open the door." Such a childish – or maybe just criminal – view of the situation. Ignore the law and Hagen's legally protected rights, and just do it because you know you're right.

"Yeah," he laughed. "Mm-hmm." He slid a book across the table to her. "You should read this. Warrant law." She looked at the book like it might bite her. "All I've got is sound coming out of a warehouse, and no way to link him to the bond." Peter leaned on the table, meeting her gaze. "I've got to talk to your friend."

"Friend?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"Come on, Nora, the guy who gave you the cigarette."

She looked surprised. "I have no clue-" she tried, but Peter cut her off.

"What, do you think Jones is an idiot?" She didn't answer. "I have to know how he connected Hagen to the warehouse."

Her eyes were troubled. She wasn't comfortable with this. _To hell with what she's comfortable with_, Peter thought. _This is for her benefit too. _After a long moment, she sighed and nodded. "Fine. I'll bring you to him. First thing in the morning." She stood to leave. "Oh, fair warning," she added. "He hates feds and he's the single most paranoid person I have ever met."

That did not inspire confidence. Before he could say anything, she picked up the warrant law book and walked out.

* * *

"I won't do it," Mozzie refused. He hadn't even thought about it. "You want to bring a _fed _to my inner sanctum? Ha!" Nora buried her face in her hands in exasperation.

"Not even to help me?"

He hesitated. "Don't try to garner my sympathy," he said, voice wavering some. "Those big blue eyes don't work on me; I'm a stone."

She blinked her big blue eyes at him. He looked away. "Come on, Mozzie," she whined. "He needs to know how you connected Hagen to the warehouse. Otherwise, we lose him and I go back."

He was conflicted, weighing his friendship with Nora against his innate distrust of the FBI. "Isn't there any other way?" he asked.

"If I can find one, you will be the first to know," she promised.

He was silent for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. "Fine. Try to think of something… but if you can't, I'll talk to the pig."

She smiled broadly at him, rising to give him a hug. "You're the best, Moz!"

"And you owe me!" She rolled her eyes.

* * *

There _was_ no other way, she concluded. She had been racking her brain for hours, thinking over every angle she could to link Hagen to the bonds. Legally, in a way Peter could use. It would have been so much easier without those pesky laws getting in the way.

It was very, very early in the morning. She couldn't sleep, didn't even try. Her eyes fell on the warrant law book she had borrowed from Peter. She sighed. _A glance at the other team's playbook_, she told herself. It was mind-numbing. And breaking laws was much, much less complicated than actually following them, she decided.

As she read, something jumped out at her. The seeds of a plan began to plant themselves in her brain. She read and reread the section of the book. _That could work. _It was stupid, she knew. And risky. But it could work.

She smiled, running off to get dressed quickly. She would only get one shot at this. Once dressed, she ran downstairs. June was still in bed. She didn't have time to ask. _Well, sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness later than permission now,_ she thought as she took the keys to June's car off the stand by the stairs.

If Peter needed probable cause to search Hagen's warehouse, she would just have to give it to him herself.


	14. Exigent Circumstance

Chapter Fourteen

Exigent Circumstance

Peter tossed and turned that night. They were running out of time. If they couldn't get Hagen, there was nothing Peter could do to help Nora. She would have to serve out the rest of her four years in prison after all. Peter felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach. Just a few days ago, he wouldn't have lost any sleep over the thought. The Dutchman case was just a trial run, after all. If it didn't pan out, so be it.

After working with her, though, he couldn't shake the thought that it just wasn't fair. Sure, it was her own fault she had gotten arrested – twice – and that she shouldn't have broken the law if she didn't want to be in prison, but he kept thinking back to what he had told her in the car the other day. _It's not just about punishment, _he had said. _It's about rehabilitation. Are you going to walk out the door a changed person who's paid their debt to society, or are you going to be the same con you've always been_? Peter got the distinct impression that if she had to go back in, that decision would become very easy for her.

His phone rang. It was very early in the morning. Had something come up in the case? "Yeah?" he answered

"Agent Burke," the person on the other end said urgently. "Caffrey outside her radius."

"Damn," he sighed. He had been afraid this would happen. Their deadline had been quickly approaching, and she wasn't willing to go back to prison if they didn't catch Hagen. He didn't bother replying. Instead, he hung up and moved to get out of bed.

"What's going on?" Elizabeth asked sleepily.

Peter felt like his stomach had dropped. "She ran."

Peter was up and dressed in less than ten minutes. He was already on the phone with Diana as he rushed out to the car. _Damn it, Nora_, he thought. _This isn't the way_! But it was too late for that.

"She didn't cut it?"

"No," Diana said. "I'm pulling up the tracking data as we speak." He heard some rapid typing.

"I want you to round up every agent you can get." Even if he had wanted to help her, she blew it. Peter wasn't sure if he had expected things to go differently or not, but it didn't matter. He wasn't going to let her get away.

"I've got the location," Diana said. "It seems like she's headed for the wharf." Peter froze.

"Run that by me again?" She repeated herself. "Son of a bitch..." he muttered.

"Boss?"

"She's not running," he said.

"The warehouse," Diana breathed as it started to click. Peter grinned. It was stupid, it was reckless… and it was what they needed.

* * *

The armed guards made Nora uncomfortable, but she kept calm. Their grips were too tight on her arms, and she was sure there would be bruises later. This was all according to plan. The printing presses were still going strong, the exact make and model the FBI had predicted. There was an office set up behind thick glass walls.

The guards shoved her inside roughly. "Go get Hagen," one of them shouted. She put her hands up, feigning a fearful expression. _Peter will be here soon_, she reminded herself.

"What exactly is going on here?" she heard Hagen's British accent shout over the swishing of the printing presses. While the men were distracted, she rushed forward and locked the door. "Why did you bring her inside?" he scolded, running forward.

"She was taking pictures," one of them explained cluelessly.

"Open the door," a man with a gun commanded, banging his gun loudly on the glass. "You're dead." _How convincing,_ she thought. _That really makes me want to open the door._

She smiled, leaning back on the desk. "That sounds like inch-thick Lexan. I don't think you're tiny little gun is gonna to help very much."

Hagen sent a man running. "Keys are on the way."

Nora ignored him, taking in the office. The furniture was expensive. She nodded appreciatively. "This is very nice," she told him, taking a seat in the squishy office chair, and leaning back to rest her legs on the fancy desk. Much better than the Bureau's chairs. She smiled serenely at him, pulling her mirror out of her pocket to check her makeup, even though she wasn't actually wearing any. "You really shouldn't have signed the bonds," she said absently. He glared back at her. "Though, I'm not really one to talk. If you can believe it, I'm just the teensiest bit vain myself, so I understand the impulse."

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "I'm going to kill you," he threatened. She smiled wryly. It wasn't the first time she had been threatened with death, and likely wouldn't be the last. "I hope whatever they've given you is worth it."

She thought about this for a moment, setting the mirror down. "It is."

As if on cue, the sound of sirens filled the air. _Music to my ears_, she thought. It was a bit ironic, really. She had spent so long running from that sound. Now, it was exactly what she wanted to hear. Hagen turned, eyes flashing with fear.

He spun back around to glare at her some more. With a smile, she tugged on her pant leg. The tracker's angry red light blinked up at him. "You absolute _bitch_," he spat.

"That's not a very nice thing to say," she chided him.

Hagen realized he was running out of time. "Grab the bonds," the man with the gun shouted at the other men. They scrambled to grab whatever they could get their hands on. "Come on, let's go."

With a _bang _the door was knocked clean off its hinges by an agent with a battering ram. More agents in full tactical gear poured in, guns blazing, shouting orders at the criminals to freeze, keep their hands in the air, etc.

Peter came in last, a smile playing at his lips, Diana on his heels. "This is what the law calls an exigent circumstance," he announced to no one in particular. "Any of you Harvard grads know what that is?" They were all too busy arresting people to answer. "Huh? No hands? Diana?"

She played along as they walked up to Hagen and the man with the gun. "Exigent circumstance allows us to pursue a fleeing suspect onto private property _without_ obtaining a warrant," she explained.

"And to seize _any and all_ evidence that is discovered in plain sight," Peter added, "regardless to the connection to the original crime." He picked up a forged bond and showed it off proudly. "Hey. Remember me, _friend_?" Peter laughed and handed the bond to Diana. "And look, there's your lawyer!" He clapped Hagen on the chest as he walked off toward Nora.

She unlocked the door for him. They shared a smile for a moment before Peter decided what to say. "You are _really_ bad at this escape thing," he told her.

"What can I say?" she asked, feigning disinterest as she studied her reflection in her mirror again. "Are you here to arrest me?"

"You _are _a fleeing suspect," he reminded her. She glanced back at a safe that stood wide open. It hadn't been open when Nora first locked herself in the room. "Is that the original victory bond?"

She smiled. "Why, yes, I do believe it is."

Peter laughed and leaned against the desk beside her, watching his agents arrest Hagen and his men, savoring the view. "You know," he said, glancing over to her, "this makes me three-and-oh."

She raised an eyebrow, thinking about this for a moment. "Maybe I'm not trying hard enough," she decided, shutting the mirror with a sharp _snap!_


	15. Peter's Bottle

Chapter Fifteen

Peter's Bottle

Peter was beaming as they stepped back into the office. It suited him, Nora decided. She yawned, the excitement of arrest beginning to wear off. She hadn't slept at all the night before. "Want some coffee?" she asked Peter as they walked.

"Sure," he agreed, somewhat absent. Upstairs, Hughes was leaning on the railing, looking down expectantly at Peter. "Wait in my office. I'll be there in a few minutes." She nodded, watching him go. He and Hughes stepped into the latter man's office. She watched them with mute curiosity for a moment, though she couldn't tell what they were talking about, and returned to getting the coffee.

She waited in Peter's office, like he asked.

He walked in about ten minutes later. He was still grinning. "Good work today," he told her as he sat down. He took a sip of his coffee, looking as tired as she felt. Perhaps he hadn't gotten much sleep either.

"Thanks," she said. They were silent for a moment. "Was that conversation about me?" She nodded toward Hughes' office.

"Not everything is about you, Nora." She waited. "Yeah," he admitted.

"And?"

He leaned forward on his desk, locking his fingers together. "This case was a bit touch and go for a while there. There were certainly some hiccups." She nodded. She seemed to have forgotten how to breathe for a moment. "But, Hughes is impressed."

She took a breath. "So, do I have to go back?"

"They're still making a decision," he sighed. She looked him in the eyes, searching. They were unreadable. _He's holding something back_, she decided, but didn't press him for more details. He would tell her when the time came. Good or bad news, she was done running.

They sipped their coffee in silence for a moment. "Oh, I almost forgot! You said you found your bottle."

Peter grinned. "I did say that," he remembered. "I got to thinking about what you said, when you asked if I had made her any promises. And, I did. I keep promising we'll go to the Caribbean, but with my job, it's just been too hard to find the time to get away. But I'm making the time."

Nora smiled. "That sounds lovely, Peter. I think Elizabeth's going to love it."

Peter nodded enthusiastically. "I've already got the plane tickets booked, and I've made arrangements for us to stay at this really beautiful seized villa in Belize."

"I'm impressed," Nora admitted. "I didn't really picture you as such a closet romantic."

Peter waved her off. "I do need a favor thought," he said. Nora raised an eyebrow. "Our plane tickets are for a couple days from now, and I still want to do something special _on_ our anniversary. Can I borrow your million-dollar view for an evening?"

"Done," she agreed.

"Just for a little while," he promised. "And I'll even give you some cash so you can go get dinner."

"You don't have to," she told him.

"I know I don't," he agreed. "Call it my way of saying thank you for your help."

"You could just say, 'thank you,'" she reminded him. "But, since you offered…" Peter opened his mouth to speak. "Ope, no take-backsies." She grabbed her coffee and left before he could say anything.

* * *

"Can't beat that view," Peter said, coming up behind Nora as she gazed over the wall of the balcony. It was the morning after their anniversary. Everything had already been cleaned up from the night before. Peter wasn't going to leave his mess for someone else to clean up.

"Did Elizabeth like it?" she asked.

"She loved it," he assured her. Nora smiled. She had a dreamy, far away look in her eyes.

"Coffee?" she offered.

"Yeah," Peter agreed, helping himself. "Italian roast?" She smirked.

"So, you're going on vacation," she said, sitting down. Idle small talk. Peter could tell she was burning to ask about a dozen different questions, but she held her tongue. Maybe she was afraid to hear the answers.

"Yeah," he nodded, taking the seat across from her. "We'll be back in a week. And I had better not get a phone call about you while I'm gone."

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised. He believed her. "You're still wearing that same old suit."

He looked down. "Yeah, I love this suit." By this point, she probably realized what he was doing, leaving her changes in subject with nowhere to go. _Just spit it out_, he thought, somewhat impatient.

She sighed. "So, have they made a decision?" There it was. Her eyes were wide, like a child waiting while her parents read her report card.

Peter sighed, sitting down his coffee and pulling his 'gift' to her out of his pocket. He held it up with a sly smile. "I figured if we didn't, you would try to make one of these on your own." Her eyes lit up as she grabbed her consultant identification card.

"I'm official!" She seemed genuinely excited about it. _Excited not to have to go back to prison_, Peter reminded himself.

"You're a consultant," he reminder her, "and I own you for four years." She looked over the ID, running her fingers over it gently as his words sank it. "Are you okay with that?"

"It _was_ my idea, remember?" He gave her a pointed look. "Yes, Peter. I'm okay with it."

"And you'll be here when I get back?"

"Where else am I going to go?"

"Good. _But_-" Peter regarded her for a moment. "-you're position is still a bit tenuous. If you keep helping us, and continue to prove yourself a valuable asset, we won't have a problem. But if things go bad, at least for the foreseeable future, I'm not sure I'll be able to save you if upper brass decides they don't think you're holding up your end of the deal."

She nodded somberly. Then a smile slowly spread. "Are _you_ okay being stuck with me for the next four years?" she asked. That was a great question.

"It's probably best you don't push your luck," he advised, standing to leave. He spared her one final glance before walking back the way he had come. "Enjoy your day off, Caffrey."


	16. Settling In

Chapter Sixteen

Settling In

Mozzie stopped by later that day. He barged in without knocking; Nora had long since gotten used to that. "I come bearing gifts," he announced, looking pleased with himself. Nora sat down her book. He pulled a key from his pocket and sat it down with a satisfying _click_.

Nora smiled. "Why, would that be the key for my storage unit?" she asked.

"Indeed."

It was about time. "You're the best, Mozzie."

"As you keep reminding me." He helped himself to a glass of wine. She took the key and put it in her purse for safe-keeping. She couldn't wait to finally get her clothes back. While June's granddaughter's were lovely, the options were a tad limited. Nora liked having options.

"I'll ask Peter to take me as soon as he's back from his vacation."

Mozzie nearly choked on his drink. "You're taking the suit?" This seemed to be a very hard concept for him to wrap his head around. Nora couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Well, it _is _a bit out of my radius," she reminded him. "Besides, there's nothing illegal in there."

"There's not?" She had forgotten she never actually told Mozzie what was in the unit. He'd had the key for four years, but had apparently respected her privacy and left it alone. _One of the many reasons I love him_, she thought fondly.

"Nah. I used to use it to hold some stuff until I could fence it," she admitted, "but when the feds started closing in, I stopped that, just in case they found it. After I got arrested, I had Kyle move some of my stuff there as a precaution, so I had some stuff to come back to when I got out. As far as I know, they never found it."

"Smart." He took a sip of his wine. "You never told me that," he noted.

Nora shrugged. "You never asked." He raised an eyebrow. "You had the key for four years. If you wanted to, you could have looked."

Mozzie was silent for a moment. "How many other such precautions did you take when the feds started closing in, that I didn't know about?"

Nora didn't answer immediately. "A lot," she admitted softly.

* * *

The next day, it was back to work. Nora dressed simply again. After the Dutchman case, she knew it was mostly going to be office work for a while, at least until another high-profile case made its way onto their desks. Diana and Jones were sharing the task of acting as Nora's handler while Peter was away. The three of them got along easily.

The work was mind-numbing. She learned very quickly that the vast majority of their cases were things like mortgage fraud or credit card fraud. Those were _not_ her area of expertise. Hour after hour, she had to read over the boring files and do the boring paperwork. She likely would have fallen asleep at her desk if not for the copious amounts of tar-coffee she guzzled down.

Diana must have heard her sigh for the billionth time that day. "You look like you need a break," she laughed. Nora looked up at her with glassy eyes. "Jones and I were heading out for our lunch hour. Wanna tag along?"

"Thank you," she breathed, grabbing her purse to join the agents. They picked a quiet, inexpensive cafe a short walk away from the office, chatting as they ate. "How do you do it?" she asked. "I've been working on mortgage frauds all morning, and I feel like my brain's already melted. How do you do it day after day?"

They laughed. "It's not so bad, when you get used to it," Diana argued.

"Yeah," Jones agreed. "It's kinda relaxing. Just zone out and work."

That didn't sound very relaxing to Nora. Diana continued. "Then, every once in a while, we get an exciting case."

"Like the Dutchman?"

"Exactly. They don't happen every day, but they're often enough that they keep things interesting," Diana explained. "Maybe once every couple months, one will pop up."

"So, was my case one of these exciting, interesting cases?" The agents exchanged looks and laughed.

"You could say that," Jones admitted. Nora grinned. "It was a long three years, though."

"New suspected crimes would pop up under one of your aliases," Diana said, "and it kind of became something of a game in the office. People would take bets on what kind of stunt you would pull next, or bets on what Peter would do or say." They laughed.

"You made a lot of agents a lot of money," Jones added.

Diana leaned in close. "Truth or rumor-"

"Is there a difference?" Nora asked. Jones rolls his eyes.

"-did you really rent offices in Trump Tower back to Trump himself?"

Nora laughed. "If someone managed to pull that off, it would be pretty impressive wouldn't it?" Of course, they knew she was dodging the question, and that they wouldn't get a straight answer about any of her suspected crimes, but they laughed anyway. It was basically a 'yes.' Eventually, their lunch hour was over, and it was back to mortgage fraud.

* * *

Peter returned to the office a week later with a smile still on his face. His vacation with El had been exactly what they had needed. He walked in and Nora was already at her desk, apparently hard at work. She smiled broadly as he walked in. "Morning, Peter," she said. "How was your vacation?"

"It was good," he said. He was slightly relieved to see she was still there, like she had promised. He knew she would be, obviously, as he hadn't gotten a phone call saying otherwise. But, still, it was something he needed to see before he could fully believe it.

"I hope you've been behaving?"

She grinned again. "Of course. But, you don't have to take my word for it." _Don't worry, I wasn't_, he thought. He nodded without replying and continued walking. Jones and Diana stood to greet him with smiles of their own. He pulled them up to his office.

"How was she?" he asked, settling in at his desk. It was like coming home, he decided. Everything was exactly as he had left it.

They exchanged looks, and for a moment, Peter expected bad news. "She was fine," Diana said. "She did her work without a problem. Stayed out of trouble."

Peter looked past them down into the bullpen. Even as he watched, she seemed to be hard at work. It was somewhat surprising. "I'm impressed," he admitted.

* * *

Jones and Diana walked out of Peter's office a few minutes later. Nora had been watching out of the corner of her eye while she worked on her paperwork. She knew they had given him a good report; she'd given them no reason not to. All week, she had been on her very best behavior. She'd been polite, hardworking, and generally pleasant to be around, if she did say so herself.

She waited a few minutes before standing. As a last-minute decision, she grabbed a cup of coffee and headed up to Peter's office. He watched her as she walked up, face unreadable. She knocked anyway, and waited for his okay to enter.

"I brought you some coffee," she said, sitting the mug down in front of him before taking a seat.

"Thanks," he said, taking a sip. Now that she was a little closer, she studied him. Just for a second, to get a sense of his mood. He still seemed to be in a good mood, eyes bright and the corners of his lips pulled up just a little bit. Whatever Jones and Diana had told him hadn't been bad. Peter spoke before she could get a chance. "So, why were you sucking up to Jones and Diana all week?"

Her smile dropped. _Damn, he's good_, she reluctantly admitted to herself. "What do you mean by that?"

He rolled his eyes. "They said you didn't complain about the mountain of mortgage frauds they gave you _once_."

"And?"

"Everyone complains about mortgage frauds." She took a breath. _Was I too well-behaved_? she wondered.

"You told me my situation is still precarious," she said. It wasn't a lie; not really. It just wasn't the most important factor in her behavior for the past week. "I've been on my best behavior. I don't want to mess up what I have here."

He regarded her evenly for a moment. "So, you didn't come up here to ask me for a favor?"

She hesitated. "It's just a little one," she admitted. Peter's face was a mask. He held her eyes for a long moment. Then he smiled, shaking his head with a small chuckle.

"Let's hear it." He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his coffee. Nora let out a breath. _He had me there for a moment, not gonna lie_. She pulled the storage locker key out of her pocket and sat it on the table in front of him. "What's that for?"

"A storage unit." His smile dropped. Not in anger or suspicion, but in curiosity. As she had guessed, he hadn't found it when he was looking for her. "I need a ride."

"I never knew about this," he said, picking the key up and turning it over in her hands.

"That was kind of the point," she laughed. "It's a little out of my radius, or I wouldn't bother asking."

"What's in it?"

"Just some clothes."

He sat the key down. "I thought you said you were wearing your entire wardrobe the day you got out of prison?"

She nodded. "I did say that. And, at the time, that was mostly the truth." Peter gave her a look. In his world, something was either true or it wasn't, there was no in between. "I gave the key to a friend to look after while I was in prison, but he lost it. He found it while you were on vacation." She sighed. "Please, Peter. I want my clothes back."

"So," he said, leaning forward, "if we go, and I look around, I won't find anything illegal?"

"Nothing," she promised. "You can search it, if you want."

He nodded slowly and grabbed the key again. "And you won't mind if I hold onto this?"

She smiled. "It's all yours."

Peter seemed satisfied. He took another sip of coffee. "Then we can go after work," he agreed with a smile. "Speaking of which, I think you have some paperwork calling your name."

She sighed. "Right." She stood to leave. "Thanks, Peter."


	17. A Farewell

Chapter Seventeen

A Farewell

As Peter had promised, once they got in his car after work, he asked for the address to her storage unit. He still couldn't believe that, after all this time, there was a storage unit that she had managed to keep hidden from him. He was vaguely worried he would find some kind of incriminating evidence inside and would have no choice but to arrest her again, but he doubted that she would have mentioned any of it to him unless she was absolutely certain it was clean.

The storage unit was in a less than stellar neighborhood, but he supposed that made sense. The business itself was fairly clean and well-maintained. "It's unit nine, by the way," she said as they got out of the car. They found the unit quickly. Peter pulled the key from his pocket and turned it over in his hands slowly. "You," he said, giving her a stern look, "stand right there." He pointed to a spot several feet from the unit. "Don't move."

She smiled, rolling her eyes a little, but there was good humor in it. She hadn't really expected any less. Once she was where he asked, he opened the unit. It was rather small, but there were certainly a lot of clothes, almost a dozen plastic storage totes full of them stacked on top of each other. A few pieces of furniture were spread around as well, but nothing that looked like it was expensive – see: stolen.

But Peter's mind wouldn't be at ease until he at least did a cursory search. He set to work, riffling through the various totes quickly. There was nothing obvious, so unless she had tiny illegal things sewn into the linings of her various outfits, she hadn't been lying.

The whole process had taken twenty minutes at most. He turned back to look at her. She was standing exactly where he had left her, absently checking her cell phone. _A cell phone she didn't have a week ago,_ he noted. Of course, there wasn't a problem with her having the phone itself, it was the potential contacts that worried him.

"You have a lot of clothes," he noted, drawing her attention. She stowed the phone in her purse and walked over to join him.

"Of course," she laughed, bending down over an open tote to see what was inside. "Just a box or two for now will be fine. I'll have someone get the rest some other time, if you don't want to make another trip."

Peter nodded. "So what was the point of making me make the trip now?" Did she worry that he was going to get suspicious if she suddenly had more clothes? Which, if he was being honest, he might have – if he'd ever noticed. He wasn't so sure he would have.

She crinkled her nose. "Never trust someone else to pick out your clothes for you," she said simply. Peter wondered if it was really as shallow as that. He decided to let it go.

She moved surprisingly quickly, considering the amount of clothes, and he was grateful for that. El occasionally insisted on dragging him out clothes shopping, and the amount of time she spent trying on different outfits and comparing things that Peter would have sworn were identical was astounding. He wasn't sure he would have had the patience if Nora was being as slow and leisurely about it as El.

After spending only about ten minutes, she had two of the totes full of things to take with her. Everything else was reorganized and put back into place the way she liked it. Each of them took a box. Peter locked the storage unit behind them and returned her key to her.

* * *

The news came several weeks later. Spring was in full swing. The days were getting hotter, though still chilly in the mornings and evenings. Soon, summer would be on them. Nora and Peter, and the white collar crime division as a whole, had fallen into something of a rhythm in their work. They meshed well together as a team. Nora did good work – when she wasn't busy complaining about how boring the majority of their cases were.

It was during a team briefing, same as they did every week. Peter had just finished and opened the floor to the rest of the team to address their thoughts, concerns, or announcements. He had learned early on not to allow Nora to speak at this time. If she needed something, she could bring it up directly to him or forever hold her peace.

Diana stood. She was smiling, but there was a sort of… almost sadness in her eyes. "I have something to tell everyone. I've been offered a job in DC, and I decided to take it. The paperwork's already settled. I'm flying out in two weeks."

There was a moment of stunned faces. Everyone loved Diana. "That's great, Diana," he said with a genuine smile. "DC is great. You're going to do great work there." She beamed. One by one, the rest of the agents stood to congratulate her and wish her well. Even Nora offered her sincere well-wishes. Everyone was happy for her, but sad to see her go.

* * *

The two weeks passed in a flash, it seemed. Nora hadn't known Diana very long, but the two got along rather well. On her last day, they held a surprise farewell party. People gave her cards, gifts, hugs. If Nora didn't know any better, she would have thought the tough agent was getting a tad misty-eyed.

Peter came up with a gift in hand, Nora behind him. Peter didn't do too well with sentiment, but he seemed to be genuinely sad to see her go. "El helped me pick this out," he admitted sheepishly, handing her a simple yellow bag with white tissue paper poking out the top.

Diana smiled. "It's from both of us," Nora mouthed silently behind him, eliciting a small snort from Diana.

"No it's not," Peter disagreed firmly, though she wasn't sure how he had heard her. Nora rolled her eyes and pulled a card out of her purse.

"But, seriously, I do have a little something for you." Diana took the card, looking over it with confusion. "That is the best restaurant in DC," Nora insisted. "Show them that card, and tell them Naomi sends her love, and you will _never_ have to pay."

The two agents gave her skeptical looks. "You do realize I'm a federal agent," Diana reminded her.

Nora rolled her eyes again. "No? Really?" They didn't laugh. "Honestly, there's nothing sketchy about it. They're clean. You can walk in and tell them you're FBI, if you want."

"So, it's not some crime front?" Peter asked, looking over the card himself.

"Nope. I'm just really good friends with the owner," she assured them. "Well, Naomi is, anyway."

"I've never heard of Naomi," Peter said. Nora just grinned, and he sighed. "Run a background check on the restaurant before you go there," he suggested, handing the card back to Diana.

"I will," she assured him, and they laughed together for a moment before another agent came and took Diana's attention. Nora smiled as they walked away, and returned to her desk. She was going to miss Diana, she decided. Diana gave her a hard time for her criminal background from time to time, but she was fun to talk to. There weren't a lot of women in white collar. Nora made the clerks a bit uncomfortable; they had taken Peter's warnings not to trust her to heart.

But Diana was happy, and Nora couldn't begrudge her for that.


	18. The Ghost

Chapter Eighteen

The Ghost

Peter had manged to calm down by the time they got to the office. After his frustration getting a cab on the Fashion Week-crowded streets of New York, Nora decided to give him some peace and quiet on their ride. It helped. Nora being quiet usually helped when Peter was mad.

It wasn't easy leaving him be. He had been worked up that they were late for interviewing a witness in what he called a 'big' case. Nora's mind was swimming with the possibilities of what it could be. She had been there almost two months. Nothing even a quarter as exciting as the Dutchman case had popped up. She was beginning to get restless.

So when Peter promised a big case, she couldn't help but let her mind go wild. She was jumping to ask him for the details, but didn't want to put him in an even worse mood. What if she pissed him off and he restricted her to desk duty for the duration of the case as punishment? She wasn't sure he would do that, of course, but she also wouldn't put it past him.

He waited until they were walking into the office to offer up the details of his own accord. "We're going after an Israeli counterfeiter," he explained, "goes by the name of Ghovat." Nora froze as Peter handed her the case file. She must have looked like a kid in a candy store.

"We're going after the Ghost?!" She was a little loud; a few agents turned their head and gave her an odd look. She ignored them.

"We're going after the Ghost," he confirmed. He didn't seem surprised she was familiar. "What do you know about him?"

Oh, what _didn't_ she know about him? "This guy is nefarious," she said. "Everything from counterfeit treasury bonds, dollars… He's rumored to be the first guy to crack the micro-printing on the euro." She sighed. He was practically a legend.

Peter rolled his eyes. "You sound like a little girl with a crush," he told her. "Besides, now we can add murder to that list." Nora felt her stomach drop slightly. She skimmed over the file. Sure enough…

"I'll be damned," she sighed. They made their way into the conference room. Their witness was already there with another agent. She was beautiful. And she looked absolutely terrified. She jittered in her seat, casting wary glances over her shoulder occasionally. Nora smiled warmly at her. The other agent left, and they began their interview.

"Hi, Tara," Peter said softly, shaking her hand. "I'm Special Agent Peter Burke, and this is my consultant, Nora Caffrey."

"Hello," she said, her voice with a soft Israeli accent. "It's nice to meet you."

"Let's talk about what happened," Peter said. "The murderer... You sure he called himself Ghovat?"

Tara nodded. "Yes." She sounded absolutely convinced. She swallowed hard, perhaps to steady her nerves.

"Okay. What happened?"

"I was at a party," she began.

"Why were you there?" Peter asked. Nora couldn't help but think that was a dumb question. It was a party. Why did it matter _why_ she was there? She did not voice this thought, however.

"Many models were invited," she explained. "It happened as I was leaving. When I went for my coat. I was in the back room when the two men came in. They were arguing."

"They didn't see you?" Nora asked gently.

Tara shook her head. "I made sure to keep out of sight, in the closet. They started shouting at each other. Then suddenly, everything went very… quiet." She paused, taking a deep breath. Peter looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. "The man who called himself Ghovat, I heard him leaving. When I walked out, that's when I saw the other man." Her voice broke. Nora flipped open a file. Pictures of the body were inside. Nora pushed down the swell of nausea that started to rise in her throat and looked through them. "He was on the floor, already dead."

Nora and Peter shared a look for a moment. Peter leaned in toward Tara. She looked on the verge of tears. "Okay, our men are going to stay with you for now," he promised. "But, if you need anything, day or night, you feel free to call me." He slid a business card across the table to her. He paused for a moment. "If you heard this man again, do you think you could identify him?"

Tara tensed up, fighting back a sob. "I will never forget his voice as long as I live."

Nora's heart broke for her. She couldn't imagine being in the poor girls shoes, being witness to a murder. Violence was a very stark reality in Nora's line of work, and even that made her uneasy, but death was one thing she still had little stomach for. Tara was a model. Her world was supposed to be about fashion and beauty, not violence and murder.

Tara stood to leave with the agent. She caught Nora's eye as she did. Nora smiled again, a soft, sympathetic smile. Sometimes, there were situations where she felt like all she could do was smile and hope for the best. Comforting a traumatized witness was one of them. She knew it didn't help.

They saw Tara to the elevator before the began discussing the case. "Have we ID'd the dead guy?" she asked.

"Foreign national out of Turkey," Peter explained as they walked. "Known associate of Ghovat."

That made sense. "Falling out over business," she guessed.

"That's what I'm thinking," Peter agreed. "My working theory: this has something to do with fashion week." He came to a stop, rubbing his temples lightly, as if this whole situation was giving him a headache.

Fashion week. Nora knew from past experience that Fashion Week presented all sorts of opportunities for criminal activity, if the criminals were particularly creative. "Well," she said, "assuming our ghost's got something to sell, Fashion Week's a great cover."

"He's got all his buyers in New York this week with no bells going off," Peter agreed. _Always on the same page_, she thought. "Unfortunately, we've got thirty-thousand buyers."

Nora considered this. "We've also got someone who can identify his voice!" She grinned. Peter had that look in his eyes like he was worried what the grin meant.

"You gonna share?" he prompted.

"You're gonna think I'm crazy," she warned him.

"That's never stopped you before," he sighed. It was a good plan. She quickly ran through all of the angles she could use to convince Peter of that fact. What way to approach it?

"We throw a party," she said simply. As expected, he didn't seem to latch on to the plan immediately. _So much for being on the same page_.

"Is it your birthday?"

"No." He knew it wasn't obviously. He had a whole file on her somewhere. Maybe he kept a copy of it in his desk drawer to look at when he was bored, for all she knew.

"Then, you're crazy."

Nora rolled her eyes. "Okay, look." She grabbed the file out of his hand and began flipping through it. "Look at this. Monte Carlo, Cannes, Ibisa, Rio. This guy loves a good time. We throw a party. Fill it with women, booze, fashion… Peter, he won't be able to resist."

"And what do we do? Send him an e-vite?" Peter scoffed. "He replies Ghost plus one?"

"No," she sighed. _Keep up, Peter_. "We bring _him_ to _us_. We have Tara there, in the room, listening. She can ID him." Peter thought about it for a moment. She could see the gears turning slowly but surely in his mind. "Come on," she begged, giving him a puppy dog face.

"Don't try that face with me," he warned. She dropped it. After a long moment, he nodded. "Fine. We'll talk to Hughes."


	19. Planning

Chapter Nineteen

Planning

Amazingly, Hughes agreed. Nora couldn't help the excitement that welled up in her stomach. _How long has it been since I've had the chance to plan a party_? she wondered absently as she began getting in touch with some old friends. They would need models by the bucket-full, booze, food, and a killer venue. She also got in touch with Elizabeth to help coordinate. She didn't want to leave that to Peter; he wouldn't understand the first thing about a stylish party if it hit him upside the head.

He seemed uncertain about the whole thing, Nora noticed as he came to a stop in front of her desk. "Come on," he said, checking his watch absently. "We're going to meet El to get some supplies for the party."

"Nice," she said with a grin, grabbing her purse and following him to the elevator. "So, where does the FBI get party supplies? If I might ask."

"We're going to use seized property," he explained. "The Bureau has a storage locker full of anything you can imagine." Nora's eyes must have lit up. "Don't get any ideas, felon."

She rolled her eyes, but laughed anyway. Her phone buzzed in her purse. "Ideas aren't illegal, Peter," she reminded him as she checked it. It was a friend she had asked to get in touch with some models. Things were going well already.

Peter muttered something about premeditation, but she ignored him.

* * *

"Hey, hon," El greeted, coming up to give Peter a hug and a quick kiss. They were outside the Bureau's seized goods locker. Though, 'locker' was quite the understatement, Nora noticed. It was, in fact, a warehouse. A whole warehouse of seized goods.

Inside, Nora suddenly understood Peter's concerns about her. It was practically the same as taking an alcoholic to a liquor store. Peter gave her a hard look when he saw the look on her face. "No sticky fingers, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah. You can search me when we leave, if you want."

"I don't need your permission for that, you know." She ignored him, beginning to scan the shelves upon shelves of things. It was impressive. There was just so much of it. Peter got an agent to lead them to things on the list Nora and Elizabeth had compiled.

As they walked, Nora and Elizabeth chatted excitedly about the party, much to Peter's annoyance. "You two do realize this is about catching a _murderer_, right."

El looked a bit sheepish at the reminder, but Nora waved him off. "Oh, lighten up, Peter. Of course we know what it's about. There's no harm in having a good time in the meantime."

"This is serious, Nora."

She stopped, looking at him evenly. "I know it's serious," she assured him. "Look, I want to catch him as much as you do. I feel bad for poor Tara. But dwelling on the negatives isn't going to make catching him easier. In my experience, relaxing and making the best of things gives you a clearer head when it comes to the hard part."

Peter didn't look convinced, but he let it go. They arrived at the shelves where the agent thought they'd find what they need. Nora and Elizabeth were quickly back to their excited babble, rummaging through the shelves.

"Wow!" Elizabeth exclaimed from the next isle over. "Royal Osetra Caviar!" Nora glanced over. El was clearly over feeling bad for having fun with a murder investigation. "This is going to be perfect." She sat the can of caviar down and looked around "Ooh, Nora, I just found Spring Bank." She turned to the agent and told him to add the whiskey and caviar to their cart.

Nora grinned. "Whiskey, perfect." The FBI storage locker was a gold mine. "Got Garioch scotch over here," she added, inspecting the case.

"'65?" El asked, hopeful.

Nora spun the case around. "No, '58," she said with a grin. _Gold mine_, she thought, still amazed at the amount of stuff the FBI just seemed to hoard. It was kind of crazy. She wondered vaguely if anything that had been seized when she was arrested was left to collect dust on any of these shelves. She knew, of course, that Peter would never let her know if that was the case.

"Oh, grab the case," Elizabeth ordered.

Peter huffed. He had been standing quietly off to the side for nearly ten minutes, sighing and huffing impatiently. He stepped forward. "Alright, come on. We've got to itemize all this." He had clearly not taken her advice to relax. She added the scotch to the cart.

Nora began going over what they'd picked out. "Twelve bottles of scotch."

"Thirty-six tins of Osetra," Elizabeth added.

"Booze and fish eggs," Peter said to the agent. "You got that?" The man nodded and walked off to do whatever needed done to get them on their way with the stuff.

Something shiny caught Nora's eye and she went over to inspect it. It was a beautiful watch. She picked it up to get a closer look. It was a men's watch, but it was really lovely. Peter came up behind her. "Woah, drop the watch, convict." She spun around. "We're not on a shopping spree."

"Oh, it's not for me," she said quickly, not missing a beat. "It's for you." She handed it to him with a smile.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, thank you, but there's nothing wrong with my old watch." But held it up to his wrist regardless. Elizabeth came up behind him and took a look.

"Oh, honey," she said, admiring the watch. "Actually, that looks great on you."

He smiled at her. "A little out of my price range," he reminded her, still looking at it with just a hint of longing, Nora noticed.

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying the finer things in life, Peter," she reminded him. He didn't look convinced.

"Then why do they always seem to end up in here?" He took the watch off and replaced it on the shelf.

Elizabeth smiled at them for a moment before getting back to business. "Okay, so we've got the alcohol and the food covered," she recapped. "Now we just need the venue.

Peter smiled, looking very pleased with himself. "Don't worry," he assured them. "I've got that covered."

* * *

Nora looked less than impressed when Peter showed her the photo of the loft he had picked for the venue. Her nose was scrunched up in distaste, rather like a picky child who didn't want to eat her vegetables.

"It's a loft," he explained. "Seized in a DEA bust. Fifteen hundred square feet, service elevator. It's perfect." He didn't understand why Nora was making a fuss about it. It was a good location. It would suit their needs, and it fit their budget. What did she expect?

"Is that a chalk outline?"

"I'm sure they've cleaned that up by now," he assured her. "It's got everything you need."

She handed the photo back to him. "Peter, I feel like I'm about to be murdered just _looking_ at the place," she deadpanned. There was no note of teasing in her tone, no spark of humor in her eyes. "There's no way in hell you're getting _models_ there." Peter rolled his eyes. _Always so overdramatic_.

"Speaking of models," he said, changing the subject. "Aren't you supposed to be lining some up to attend?"

Nora pulled out her phone. She began texting rapidly. Peter was somewhat amazed at how fast she seemed able to type on such a tiny keyboard. El could do the same thing. _Maybe it's just a girl thing_? he wondered. "I've got a friend on it," she said, not looking up from the screen. "Looks like… sixty-five and counting."

Peter blanched. _Unbelievable_. "Oh, sure," he said, somewhat bitter. "Nora Caffrey throws a party, and sixty-five super models show up." Her phone buzzed. She seemed very focused on whatever it was. "Is that another one of your super models?"

"No," she said slowly. "Just a friend." She smiled brightly. "He's got a place we can use."

Peter scoffed. "You think your friend's place is better than mine?" he asked, holding up the photo of the loft. Nora laughed a little, but went back to texting rather than replying. Peter sighed. "Okay, then. Let's go see it."

She stowed her phone back in her purse and stood. "Great." Once in the car, she gave Peter the address. It was in a nice part of town, he realized with a sinking feeling. _Did she really manage to get a better place in such a short time?_

* * *

The short answer was 'yes.' Yes, she did. Peter stared around in disbelief. It was gorgeous, a luxurious rooftop garden. The view of the city was breathtaking. "How did you manage this?" he asked. The Bureau would never have been able to get a venue like that, on such short notice, on budget.

She grinned. "I just called in a favor," she explained. "I've got lots of friends, and a lot of them owe me." Peter shook his head.

"Okay," he sighed. "It's better than mine. It's a lot better than mine." Peter wished he could wipe the smug grin off her face. Elizabeth walked up to join them, grinning just a broadly as Nora.

"Honey," she said, "I am really impressed with this place. I mean, I could have a state dinner up here. How did you pull that off?" Peter stammered for a moment. Elizabeth was like an excited little bee.

Nora spoke before Peter could. "He has a source," she said slyly, "but good luck trying to pry it out of him."

Elizabeth gave Peter a look. "Mmm, sounds like fun. I'll work on him later." Peter stood dumbfounded as she gave him a small kiss on the cheek and walked away to make last minute arrangements.

Nora elbowed Peter lightly. "She'll work on you later," she echoed, raising an eyebrow. Peter couldn't hide the small smile on his lips. He checked his watch, and it was back to business.

"Okay, guys," he said to his agents, "I've got twenty minutes to get fiber optics in play. I want a camera on every single entrance and exit, starting with that one." He walked away, leaving Nora to her devices.

* * *

As Peter walked away, busy getting surveillance in place, Nora took in the surrounding for a moment. It was going to be a fun party. She still had to get ready, she realized, still in her office attire. That would not do for their party.

Before she left, she noticed a woman in a black and purple dress, inspecting a statue idly. _A model, this earl__y_? She walked up to the woman. "Hello," she greeted politely. The woman spun around. "I think you might be a little early. We're not quite set up yet."

"You must be Nora Caffrey," the woman said with a smirk.

"I am," she admitted. "Would you mind waiting inside for a little bit?" The last thing they needed was for some model to tip off the Ghost that the party was an FBI sting.

"Actually," she said, shifting her weight onto one hip, "I think I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

"At least let me walk you downstairs," Nora insisted, placing a hand on her shoulder to lead her toward the door.

"You know," the woman said in a light, conversational tone, "I gotta say, I expected a little more. I mean, you're charming enough, but..."

Nora raised an eyebrow. _Excuse me_? "Who invited you again?" she asked.

"The agency."

"I thought you were a model," Nora said, attempting to lead the woman inside again.

"And I thought you were one of the smart ones," the woman said, smirking. She pulled something out of her purse and held it up for Nora to see. An FBI badge.

Peter and Jones walked up to join them. "Nora," he said, looking between the two of them. "This is is Agent Lauren Cruz. I just had her transferred over. She's going to be keeping an eye on you tonight."

_A babysitter. Of course_. "Right," she said as Lauren put her badge away. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," the woman said with a small laugh.

Peter looked at Nora pointedly. "Aren't you supposed to be getting ready?"


	20. The Party

Chapter Twenty

The Party

Peter found her downstairs, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. She had already done her hair and put on her dress, a simple, but short and slinky black dress. She'd had Mozzie get it out of her storage unit, just for the party. "That doesn't look like drugstore makeup," he remarked, picking up an eye shadow palate and examining it with idle curiosity.

Nora rolled her eyes, snatching it back and sitting back where she had it. "It's not," she admitted. "I can't walk into a party with super models in _drugstore_ makeup, Peter." He shrugged, not understanding the problem. She sighed. "Tara lent it to me."

Tara, who was standing across the room, talking to an agent about what to expect for the party, looked like she was about to puke. Nora would talk to her later, try to help her calm down her nerves. "Are you almost ready?" Peter asked impatiently, checking his watch. The guests would be arriving soon, she knew. _You can't rush perfection._

She put down her makeup brush and checked her reflection in her mirror. "Just about," she assured him. "Just one more thing." She spun around in her chair, legs crossed. The one with the anklet was on top, and she held it out in front of him, shaking a high-heeled foot for emphasis. She smiled expectantly.

He sighed. "You could have worn pants," he said, hands on his hips.

"Not to a party like this," she argued. "Besides, you've got cameras everywhere, and a babysitter to keep an eye on me." He still looked reluctant. "I'm not going anywhere, Peter."

He knew she was right. After a moment, he nodded and pulled out the key for her anklet. "Don't make me regret this," he warned before taking it off and stowing it in his pocket. She rubbed her ankle. It was a little red and sore. Peter didn't seem to notice.

He handed her an earpiece and a thin, simple watch. "Put those on," he ordered. "We'll hear everything you hear, and you'll be able to hear me." She nodded, doing as he asked. "Don't take them off."

Tara walked over, rubbing her arm nervously, casting glances over her shoulder like she was expecting Ghovat to jump out at her at any second. Nora stood and smiled at her reassuringly. "Are you ready to go up? The guests will be any minute now." She nodded and the two of them headed upstairs.

"Can I ask you," she said nervously, "what was that thing on your leg? That Agent Burke took off?"

Nora's soft smile didn't waver. "It was a tracking anklet," she explained.

"Why do you have it?" She didn't seem scared of Nora, just curious. Maybe she was trying to distract herself.

"Because I'm a felon." There was no sense in lying. "I wear it while I work with the FBI, and I don't have to be in prison."

That _did _seem to make Tara a bit uneasy. "You're a criminal?"

Nora laughed. "Yeah. Don't worry, I didn't do anything that bad." She was sure Peter would disagree with that statement. "I forged some bonds," she admitted. _And a whole laundry list of other things, but that's not important_.

"You don't look like a criminal," Tara said, studying her for a moment.

Nora laughed. "I guess looks can be deceiving."

"Nora," Peter's voice buzzed in her ear. "Our first guests are arriving. They're on their way up now."

Nora nodded. "Okay, Tara, it's showtime."

* * *

Nora smiled easily, confidently, as she and Tara talked to the guest. After about half an hour, the sun long set, the party was in full swing. Music seemed to reverberate through her body. People laughed, danced, and drank. Nora would have loved to partake, but she was on the clock. She had a job to do.

Tara still looked vaguely nauseous. "Hey," Nora said reassuringly. "Everything's okay. Relax. Try to smile."

Tara tried, but it looked forced. "How do you do it?" she asked, voice shaky. "How do you just smile like everything is okay?"

Nora thought about that for a moment. She'd never really had to put it into words before. "I guess… you just kind of have to fake it until you make it, if that make sense," she explained. "Like, if you smile and act confident, act like everything is going your way, that's what everyone will see. And getting people to see what you want them to is half the battle." She nodded, but Nora wasn't sure she really got it. "Just take a breath and act like you don't have a care in the world."

She gave it a try. Her smile was much more convincing this time. Still a little tight, and it didn't quite reach her eyes, which still looked scared, but it was better. "See," Nora said, rubbing her shoulder lightly. "Now you've got it." That also seemed to help some.

"Nora," Peter's voice buzzed again. "Straight ahead, red shirt, dark jacket." Nora looked where Peter indicated, locking on to the man he described. "He seems pretty jumpy for a guy to be at a party filled with models."

Nora smiled at Tara again. "Let's mingle." She guided Tara nonchalantly toward the man. He nodded as they approached, looking them up and down quickly. Nora was used to that, and she assumed Tara was too. "Hi," she greeted brightly. "I saw you looking around. Can I help you find someone? I know nearly everyone here, except for you, Mister…?"

"Dmitri," the man said, holding out a hand. Nora shook it.

"Dmitri," Nora repeated. "It's lovely to meet you."

"I'm just admiring the view," he said, eyes raking over her and Tara once again. Nora's charming smile didn't slip.

"It's a beautiful crowd," she agreed.

"Quite stunning." Nora felt like a piece of meat. Tara looked away from his gaze. Dmitri's phone rang and he pulled it out. "Excuse me," he said, stepping away.

Nora smiled after him. Once he was away, she turned to Tara. She shook her head. Nora sighed. "It's not our voice, Peter."

"Alright."

Tara's eyes latched on Dmitri, and she took a step closer. "Wait," she said. "He's speaking Hebrew."

Nora froze. "What's he saying?"

She listened. "He's saying, 'I'm waiting, where are you?' Ghovat… He's here. He's watching him. Ghovat's here." Nora took a breath.

"Peter, he's here," she hissed. "He's watching Dmitri right now."

"I got it," Peter assured her. Nora scanned around, mind racing through ways she could draw Ghovat out, figure out which of the many men was their man. She caught sight of Cruz, watching Nora, Tara, and Dmitri out of the corner of her eye. _That could work_.

She walked casually up to Lauren, grinning. "I need you to back me up," she whispered. Lauren raised an eyebrow. "How are you at flirting?"

"What?"

"I need you to flirt with that guy over there," she said, motioning to Dmitri. She looked like she was about to protest. "You're charming enough. Just for a minute." She sighed, but walked over to Dmitri, who had put away his phone.

Nora gave it a second before she made her move. As Lauren distracted him, she walked past, bumping into him, lifting his phone swiftly as she moved by. "Sorry," she excused herself. Lauren shot her a curious look, but kept talking to Dmitri. He didn't notice anything strange about the exchange.

Nora held the phone up to show Lauren, and she excused herself. Nora dialed the last number called. It rang and she scanned the crowd, hoping they would pick up. A man several feet away pulled the phone out of his pocket. "There he is," she said.

"I got it!" Peter said. "I got it. Move in, repeat, move in. Now, now, now!"

It was only a moment before agents swarmed the man, tacking him to the ground. "Get off of me!" the man cried. "This is madness." People stared in shock and confusion. Tara appeared beside Nora, eyes wide with apprehension.

"The voice," she said, shaking her head. "It's not him."

Nora hissed out a sigh. "Peter, we've got the wrong guy."


	21. Love Letters

Chapter Twenty-One

Love Letters

The party had not gone exactly to plan, but it was far from a waste of time. After reviewing the surveillance video, it seemed they had gotten a look at their ghost as he slipped his cell phone into the pocket of the foreign national the agents had mistakenly tackled to the ground. That was infinitely more information than they had previously had on Ghovat.

After the party was dissolved and making sure Tara was safe in the care of his agents, Peter offered to take Nora home. After the excitement of the party, she seemed worn out. Her smokey eye lids drooped slightly, and she stifled the occasional yawn. He kissed El quickly before sending her on her way, promising to be home soon.

As they got in the car, Peter handed back her tracking anklet. She made a slight look of distaste as she kicked off her high heel and pulled her foot up onto the seat, and Peter couldn't help but chuckle. "Did you think I was going to forget?"

She sighed. "No, but one can hope." She clicked it into place. Peter tugged on it quickly, making sure it was all the way on. Once satisfied, he began driving. Rather than putting her shoe back on, she kicked the other one off instead, pulling it up to rub the top of her foot soothingly.

"Why wear those if they're so uncomfortable?" he asked with a laugh. El did the same thing. It just didn't make sense.

"Men," Nora snorted under her breath. "Women will go to great lengths for the sake of beauty, Peter. Don't question it, just embrace it."

"It just doesn't make sense to me," he admitted.

"What, you've never went out of your way to look nice?" she asked. "Never worn a suit you hated for Elizabeth's sake?"

He opened his mouth to protest, to explain that that was different, but the words froze in his throat. It really _wasn't_ different, he realized. "Okay, fair point," he said after a moment. She smiled weakly for a moment before turning to look out the window, head drooping on the seat.

Peter was sure she was done talking, but she spoke again after a few minutes. "So, what happens next? Was the party a bust?"

Peter considered this for a moment. "Not completely," he decided. "We didn't catch Ghovat, but we got him on surveillance. That's something. The team's going to run his picture through facial recognition and see what comes back."

She nodded slowly. "That's good. I'm glad you got something you can use."

Peter didn't respond. They drove in silence for a several minutes. Peter realized how tired he was getting himself and attempted to start a new conversation to keep himself alert. "So, was the party as fun and exciting as you'd hoped it would be?" he asked lightly, teasing her earlier childish excitement while she and El planned the party.

Nora didn't respond. For a second, Peter wondered if she was mad at him for something and racked his brain to figure out what. He couldn't think of anything. "Nora?" Still nothing. He glanced over. Her head was lolled on her shoulder, eyes shut. She was breathing deeply, evenly. Peter couldn't help but laugh. She had fallen asleep.

Smiling slightly to himself, he turned on some music – quiet so not to wake her – and made the rest of the drive in silence. While awake, she hid behind masks and lies. She was great at manipulation, playing off of peoples moods and sympathies to get her way. When she was asleep, she looked so small, vulnerable. All the well-honed pretenses she built had fallen away. She looked less like a devious, cunning con artist, and more like a normal, innocent young woman.

The words he'd overheard her say to Tara burned in his ears. _Looks can be deceiving._ Nora was a walking testament to that statement alright.

It wasn't too long of a drive, and before too long he pulled up outside of June's. "Nora," he said softly, lightly shaking her shoulder. "Wake up, Nora."

"Huuh?" she muttered groggily, eyes blinking open slowly. She rubbed her eyes slowly before looking around. "Wha?"

"You fell asleep," he explained. "You're home now."

The words took a second to sink in. "Oh, right. Sorry." She bent over to slip her heels back on.

"Don't worry about it." She yawned widely, and Peter worried for a second she would fall asleep again, right up against the dash board. She didn't.

She finished strapping the heels on and unbuckled her seat belt. "Thanks for the ride, Peter." She got out and wobbled a little. It made Peter kind of nervous.

"Do you want me to walk you in?"

She smiled sleepily. "No, I think I can manage. Thanks, though." She paused for a moment. "Have a good night, Peter."

"Yeah," he said, still not convinced she would make it to the door. "You too." With that, she closed the door. Peter waited until he saw her disappear inside before heading home himself.

* * *

Despite her fatigue, Nora found she was too keyed up to sleep once she got home. The party hadn't gone her way, and she found herself somewhat worried if she was going to get in trouble with Hughes for wasting FBI resources. The uncertainty killed her. _Would they put me back in prison for something like that_?

"How was your party?" that all too familiar voice asked from behind her. She hadn't heard him come in, too busy looking out over the city from the balcony to notice much of anything.

"Didn't quite pan out," she admitted, "but it got us some useful information, so I suppose I'd call it a success."

He nodded. He'd put in almost as much effort as she had, connecting her to various contacts that got her in touch with the models and the friend who arranged the venue. Despite the fact that his effort was going to the benefit of the FBI, he loved helping Nora on her cases. His insights were valuable, and he got to work with her for the first time in ages on what they both loved doing.

"Any luck getting this thing off me?" she demanded, nodding down at her exposed anklet.

Mozzie sighed. "I'm working on it." Nora shook her head, returning inside to take her hair down. "You're lucky," Mozzie continued. "They have you on a two-mile tether. That's a lot in New York." She scoffed, running a brush through her hair. "Remember Jimmy Dimaco? The feds had his anklet set up at twenty-two feet. He had to take a shower with one foot out of the tub."

Nora glared at him. "That's not true."

Mozzie sighed. "Okay," he admitted, "maybe thirty feet." She turned to the sink and began washing her makeup off. "My point is, you have it better."

She paused, turning back to him. Her face was dripping, water splashing on her dress. "It's not enough, Moz," she insisted before turning back around to finish washing. Once she was done, she sat, burying her face in her hands for a moment before continuing. "I _need_ to find Kyle. The man with the ring was with him in California." Mozzie sat across from her. "_You _tell _me _what he wants from him, 'cause he sure as hell didn't find what he was looking for in San Diego."

Mozzie cocked his head to the side. "And, how would you know what he was looking for?"

Nora sighed, running a hand through her hair. She didn't meet his inquisitive gaze. "Because," she said slowly, swallowing back the urge to lie that rose in her throat whenever she was faced with admitting an uncomfortable truth. "Because I told Kyle that I kept everything – all of the money, the bonds, the art, everything – in San Diego." She looked down at her lap.

Mozzie didn't respond for a moment. "Well, clearly that's not _the truth_," he said slowly, "because you told me it was all hidden in Portland. Isn't it?" She didn't reply, still not looking up to meet his eyes. She could feel the sense of betrayal radiating off of him as he connected the dots. "Oh. There's nothing hidden in either place, is there?" She hated having lied to Mozzie, but it had been a necessary precaution. _He won't see it like that, though_, she thought glumly. "It's a test. You told him San Diego, and me Portland. Then, whichever rock gets overturned, you know who betrayed you."

There was hurt in his voice. "I'm sorry, Moz," she offered, but it sounded hollow, even to her own ears. She wasn't sorry. "I told you, I took a lot of precautions when the feds started closing in that I never told you about. I just needed to know what I already knew."

"What, that you can trust me?" The accusation in his voice was like a knife through her chest. She finally looked up. He was angry, hurt, betrayed. She felt a wave of guilt wash over her, but pushed it aside. _I didn't do anything wrong_, she reminded herself. _It was a necessary evil_. "That I'm the one who's been there through all of it?" he continued. She could have stopped him, could have sweet-talked him out of his anger, but she felt like she deserved it. She let him work it out of his system. "But Kyle, _Kyle _is the one who kicked over your rock."

That was the line. She slammed her hands down on the table, fighting back the tears the stung her eyes. "No," she argued. "Kyle didn't betray me. _He_ forced him to."

Mozzie's eyes grew softer. He took a breath to steady himself. Without meaning to, she had played his own feelings toward her against him, turned it around so that _she_ was the victim. It was like an instinct, a shield to hide behind when things weren't going her way. Maybe he realized that, maybe he didn't. It didn't seem to matter. "Then why didn't he try to warn you when he came to say goodbye in prison?"

Nora's mind raced. She thought back to that day. He'd been acting oddly, she remembered. She'd thought about that after he was gone. It had been part of the reason she deiced to escape in the first place; there had been something he wasn't telling her, something that scared him, and Nora needed to understand what.

"I think he might have," she admitted, "but I was too stupid to see it." She stood, crossing the room to the bookshelf and digging out a piece of paper she's hidden in one of the books. She handed it to Mozzie.

He read it, face scrunched up in confusion. "'Weep for me, my love, I'll miss you more-' what is this?" Nora grabbed it back from him.

"It's just an old love letter," she admitted. "It doesn't mean anything." She folded the letter along an existing crease and handed it to him again. Now it read 'we are being watched.' "The FBI was closing in on us, so we started using precautions, passing codes."

Mozzie shook his head in exasperation. "Codes that can be cracked by anyone who has ever seen the back of a Mad Magazine."

She snatched the letter back. "That, _right there_ is the reason I don't tell you everything," she snapped. "That attitude." She sighed, running a hand through her hair again. "You have to judge every little thing because you think_ you _can do it better." She'd never voiced that frustration before, or really even thought about it, but as she said it, she realized it was somewhat true.

"I'm trying to be supportive," he insisted.

"This was an early attempt," she admitted, sitting the letter down. "We got more sophisticated as time went on. My point is, he knows how to send a coded message without making it obvious."

Mozzie nodded. "So you think when he came to see you in prison, he left a code?"

"I don't know," she sighed, sinking down into a chair again. "But I won't be able to relax until I know for sure. I _need _to see the security tape."

Mozzie paused for a moment, seeming to think over his words carefully. "Your friend at the FBI has access," he said quietly. "He's seen it."

Nora let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, he still doesn't really trust me – for good reason. He's not going to just hand it over."

"You could… ask." It was so simple. Of course she could just _ask_, but what would Peter say? Would he think she was getting ideas to look for Kyle again, that showing it to her would lead to trouble? He probably wouldn't be wrong if he did… _The worst he can do is say no._


	22. Trouble

Chapter Twenty-Two

Trouble

Nora slept in late that morning. When she woke, she hoped Peter wouldn't be too mad about her coming in late, though after falling asleep in his car on the way home, she had a good feeling he would understand. It was with some reluctance that she rolled out of bed to put on a pot of coffee.

Like every morning, she ate a light breakfast and read the news paper while waiting for her anklet to charge. She vaguely wondered what would happen if she ever _accidentally_ let its battery die, but hadn't plucked up the courage to test it. More than likely, it ended in a long, stern lecture from Peter about responsibility and consequences, but the worst case scenario – prison – stopped her from testing that theory.

The morning was burning on, and Nora needed to be getting to work. As confidant as she was that Peter wouldn't mind a little tardiness after the long night before, she didn't want to push it too far, not if she was going to be asking him for a favor. She dressed in a black pants suit with a light pink blouse underneath. She went light on the makeup, and simply braided her hair over her right shoulder.

The cab ride to the Bureau passed quickly, for which she was grateful. The longer she was left to her thoughts, the more she wanted to chicken out of asking Peter for the tape. _I need to see it_, she reminded herself, attempting to steel her nerves. _It's the only way._

She paid the cabbie and made her way in. The receptionist, Emily, smiled warmly at her. "Running late, Nora?"

"Long night," she admitted as she passed. On a day she _wasn't _late, she might have stopped to chat. "Have a good one."

"Yeah, you too."

She stepped into the elevator with four unfamiliar agents from other divisions. They didn't acknowledge her, though she was sure they knew who she was. The first couple of weeks she spent at the Bureau, she was sort of the hot gossip around the water cooler, so to speak. When she passed agents, mostly those from other divisions who didn't have a chance to work with her to get to know her, they whispered and shot suspicious glances at her. She ignored them for the most part. _Just like high school_, she remembered thinking a bit snidely.

After a while, the gossip and the glances had stopped. She was a normal appearance in the lobby, or in the elevator. And while she could tell they didn't trust – or maybe even like – her, they didn't bother her. That suited her just fine. The agents in white collar were infinitely more welcoming. Except maybe Hughes, who always eyed her with suspicion whenever she opened her mouth.

Soon enough, she stepped out on the twenty-first floor, just like every morning. A few of the agents smiled and nodded in way of greeting. She did the same, passing them all on her way up to Peter's office. He saw her coming and offered her a small smile of his own as she walked in.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked teasingly.

"Ha ha," she said, sitting across from him and crossing her legs. "I know I'm late."

He shrugged. "I don't mind," he assured her. "You were really tired last night." She fidgeted with the end of her braid. "Just don't make a habit of it."

"No worries there," she said. "We got anything on Ghovat yet?"

Peter smiled. "I was waiting for you to get here to go over it," he explained, grabbing a file and standing. He motioned her to follow him into the conference room. Lauren was already there. She smiled a bit uncertainly at Nora.

"Okay," he said, "what do we have?"

She pressed a button on the remote, and the video of the previous night's surveillance began playing. In it, a bald, middle-aged man with tan skin dropped his phone into the foreign diplomat's pocket. He must have seen Nora lift Dmitri's phone. She cursed herself silently.

"So," Lauren said, "our ghost finally has a name. Zidel Hazeva." That was bit of a mouthful.

"Stick with Ghovat for now," Peter decided, apparently thinking the same thing as Nora. "Do we know anything more about him?"

"Not much," Lauren admitted. "No criminal record, name's not coming up on any of our international watch lists, we can't find him registered in town."

"Anything on the girl?" Peter asked, referring to the model Ghovat had been seen with in the video.

"She's a model," she explained, pointing out the obvious. "We're looking at her."

"What about Dmitri?"

"Andre Dmitri, Uzbekistan national, linked to a handful of enterprises… arms trading, money laundering, prescription drug fraud." That sounded about right to Nora, for someone in business with Ghovat.

"Not exactly the kind of guy you'd expect to show up at Fashion Week," Nora offered.

"Yeah," Lauren agreed.

"Does he still think he got away clean?" Peter asked.

Lauren nodded. "He slipped out the northwest exit. Jones is sitting on him."

"Tell Jones to keep his distance," Peter said. "I don't want him getting tagged. Let's see where this guy leads us." He smiled at Lauren. "Good work."

She beamed a little at his praise. "Thanks."

Peter nodded, checking his watch and heading back toward his office. "We'll reconvene in an hour," he told them.

Nora lagged behind, instead rounding the table to stand by Lauren. "Nice report," she said.

"Thanks."

Nora smiled. "We didn't really get a chance to properly introduce ourselves last night," she added, offering Lauren a hand to shake; she did. "It really is nice to meet you."

Lauren looked at her, a little skeptical. "Right, you too."

"I think you'll like this unit," she said. "It's a great team."

"So I've heard." She didn't seem like she was much into talking. Maybe she'd had the same warnings given to her as the others about Nora. Where Nora had hit it off with Diana and Jones pretty easily, she got the feeling Lauren might take some time to warm up to her. She decided to give her some space.

With a last smile, she followed Peter into his office. "Where we headed for lunch?" she asked. It had sort of become their routine. While Peter's palate often meant eating somewhere a bit boring, she enjoyed getting out of the office for a while and Peter was surprisingly good company, when he was in a good mood.

"Ah," he sighed, "going to have to take a pass. Elizabeth wants to meet in the park."

Nora grinned. "A picnic. How romantic."

Peter sighed again, placing his hands on his hips. He didn't look too enthusiastic. "Yeah… should I be worried?"

"I know that face," she said teasingly, crossing her arms. "What did you do?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't think I did anything."

She chuckled. _Clueless as ever_. "Show no fear," she advised. "Maybe she's just gotten used to spending time with you."

"You think?"

"I might not be the best person to ask," she admitted, "given that most of the time you haven't been spending with her, you've been spending with me." Peter chuckled, relaxing a little bit as he gathered his things. He started for the door. _It's now or never_, she decided. "Hey, Peter, before you go… I need a favor."

He spun around. "Yeah." _So far, so good_.

She took a breath. "The last time Kyle visited me in prison before he disappeared… You watched the security tape?"

Peter stiffened, his eyes taking a suspicious gleam. "Yeah," he said slowly. It was too late to bail. _Spit it out, girl_.

"I… I would really like to see it, if that's okay." Peter considered this for a moment, looking at her evenly. He didn't seem mad. Maybe a bit uncertain. He didn't like the idea of Nora dwelling on Kyle.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked. It wasn't a no, which was a good sign. He seemed to be genuinely looking for her input. _Maybe he trusts me a little more than I give him credit for_.

"It's the last time I saw him," she said quietly, meeting his gaze with what she hoped was a sad, but composed expression. "I just want some… closure. Does that make sense?"

He seemed to chew over her words for a moment, still studying her closely. She didn't waver, didn't blink. She didn't even dare to breathe. He sighed. "Help me wrap up this case, and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." He smiled weakly, still not entirely comfortable with their discussion, but he let it go, turning to leave without another word. Once he was gone, Nora took a breath. It had gone better than she'd hope. _And he didn't say no_.

* * *

Nora walked back into the white collar unit after lunch almost an hour later, in time to reconvene like Peter had asked. To her surprise, Tara was there, waiting nervously by an agent's desk. "Hey," she greeted with a small smile, "what's going on?"

Tara swallowed before speaking. "They're moving me now," she explained.

That didn't make sense. "To protective custody?" she confirmed. Tara nodded. "No one's threatening you."

Tara tried a weak smile. "They're not taking any chances." She sighed, looking downcast. "I came here to get an agent, make contact… not this."

Nora rested a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "Hey, try not to worry, okay. It's all going to be okay." Tara's eye caught on something behind Nora. She glanced over her shoulder. Peter was walking through the glass doors.. "If anyone can catch Ghovat, it's Peter," she assured Tara.

"Really?" There was a spark of hope in her brown eyes.

"He's the best." _I speak from experience_, she thought, though decided to keep that to herself. Tara needed Nora the friend, not Nora the criminal. She glanced back over at Peter, who motioned her over. With a last reassuring squeeze of Tara's shoulder, she went to join him.

"I just got word from Jones," Peter began, scrubbing the back of his neck with a hand. Something shiny caught Nora's eye, something that hadn't been there before.

"Ooh," she said, cutting him off. "Love the watch, Peter. Very chic."

He looked at it a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, gift from Elizabeth," he said. "Thank _you_ very much." Nora wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean.

"No sun dial to clutter it up, either," she admired. "Very nice." Then she remembered that Peter had been about to tell her something work-related. "What's Jones got?"

Peter seemed relieved to get back to the matter at hand, rather than the one on his wrist. "Dmitri's at a photo shoot," he explained.

_That's helpful how?_ "Lucky him," she said.

Peter seemed to pick up on her less than enthusiastic tone. "Guess who's with him."

She shrugged. "Who?"

"Remember that model that was with Ghovat last night?" There it was, the part of the story that was significant. He was trying to reach out to Ghovat. They wasted no time heading for the address Jones had given Peter.


	23. Photo Shoot

Chapter Twenty-Three

Photo Shoot

Security was tight at the venue. Jones had assured them that Dmitri was still inside with their model friend, but as far as he could tell, there was no way they were going to get in. Nora scanned the area thoughtfully, worrying her lower lip the way Peter had noticed she tended to when she was deep in thought.

After a moment, she pulled out her mirror and checked her reflection. She flattened a couple of fly away hairs in her braid and applied a fresh layer of lipstick before moving to get out of the car. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

She paused and flashed him a cocky grin. "Give me two minutes, I'll get us in."

"How?" As usual, her answer was another smile. Peter sighed. "Nothing illegal?"

"Absolutely," she agreed. He watched her go up to the people keeping guard at the door. She walked with purpose, like she was supposed to be there. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but her body language exuded confidence._ I__f you smile and act confident,_ he recalled her telling Tara at the party, _act like everything is going your way, that's what everyone will see. And getting people to see what you want them to is half the battle_.

As she was talking, she pulled out her cell phone and seemed to type something or dial a number. She held it to her ear for a moment, saying something he couldn't hear. Peter was surprised when she handed the phone to the doorman. He put it to his ear and spoke to whoever she'd called. They didn't talk long before he handed the phone back.

She smiled as she slipped the phone back in her purse and turned back to Peter. She gave him a signal to come and join her. Amazed, he closed the distance between them quickly. "Ready?" she asked, the cocky grin back in place.

Peter didn't say anything until they were lead into the room where a photo shoot was taking place, and their guide left them. He sighed. "However you got us in here, I don't want to know," he decided. She was already surveying the room, not paying him any attention.

She motioned to the model getting her picture taken. "That's our girl."

Peter looked. Dmitri was hovering nearby, pacing somewhat anxiously. "That's our Dmitri," Peter added. "Guy always looks like he's waiting for something to happen. Maybe he's waiting for Ghovat."

Nora nodded absently. "He lost his phone last night," she reminded him. "If that was his only connection-"

"He's figuring his only way back in is through the girl," Peter concluded.

She was biting her lip again. "Wanna go check it out?"

Peter sighed, shaking his head, "No, I can't," he decided. "If I start flashing my badge, they'll scatter like rats." Nora nodded for a moment, then froze.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Do you trust me?"

_What a stupid question_, he mused. "Nope." There was no question about it.

She rolled her eyes. "Do you trust me to talk to Dmitri?" she huffed, crossing her arms. She looked remarkably like El, when she got mad at him.

"What are you thinking?"

She didn't answer for a moment. "Stand there and look menacing," she ordered, dodging the question.

"What?" Sometimes Peter failed to understand how her mind worked. _If only I knew what was going on up there_.

"Stand there and look menacing," she repeated. Clearly, she had some sort of plan, though he would have preferred if she shared with the class once in a while. He attempted to follow her instructions, putting his arms on his hips and giving her a stern look.

She scrunched up her face. "No, Peter," she sighed in exasperation. "_Menacing_. You look like your kid just struck out. Come on, you gotta _sell _it."

"What?" he asked defensively. "This is menacing."

She shook her head. "No. It's really not. It's kind of pathetic, actually." He glared. _Who does she think she is, talking to me like that_, he fumed. She smiled suddenly. "There it is," she said patronizingly, patting his cheek lightly. "There's that angry face."

He realized what she had been doing, goading him into being angry to 'sell it' as she had said. "Now," she continued, "cross your arms." She began pulling on his jacket.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"I want to let him know you're packing," she said with a small laugh. "Perfect. Stay just like that." She turned to walk away, but stopped and gave him a final once-over. "Don't move." _Ha ha_, he thought sourly as she walked up to Dmitri.

Once again, Peter was left watching while Nora went to do the talking, unable to hear what was being said. He attempted to remain where he was, looking menacing. The look, at least, was not that hard to maintain. Nora had the uncanny ability to push all of his buttons and piss him off. She knew that, and she used it.

He watched as they talked. Once again, Peter was amazed by the way she worked. Even from across the room, he could feel her confidence. She stood straight. She held her head high. It was easy to see how she'd been able to pull of her cons so successfully. She could have been an actor.

Peter compared this Nora to the one who he worked with. With Dmitri, she was acting bold, serious. With Peter, she was often charming or teasing. When she wanted something, she played off his sympathies. He wondered how much of that was her letting her guard down a little and how much was her knowingly attempting to manipulate him. _My guess is it's mostly the latter_, he decided.

Dmitri nodded toward his guard by the door. The man stepped forward, sweeping back his jacket to reveal a gun holstered to his hip. Nora didn't waiver. Peter knew she didn't like guns, but she was good at hiding her discomfort when she wanted to.

She nodded curtly to Dmitri and returned to Peter. "Let's get out of here," she said softly, still not dropping the facade she'd adopted for her conversation until they were back outside. They didn't speak until they were well away from listening ears. "He's definitely here to buy," she confirmed. "That girl could lead him to wherever Ghovat is staying."

"I'll have Jones keep tailing him," he said.

She smiled. "For the record, you were _much_ scarier than that other guy," she assured him, patting him on the cheek again, and laughing at the look on his face.


	24. The Dress

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Dress

After returning from the photo shoot, Nora got started on some paperwork Peter had assigned her. It was busy work, she realized, intended to keep her out of trouble while they waited for something to come up in their case, but she didn't mind. She sipped on a latte – she'd practically begged Peter to stop on the way back to the office, the thought of ingesting more FBI tar rolling her stomach.

A kind agent, Lisa, came to her desk and smiled. "Hey, Nora," she greeted. Nora knew the look on her face instantly.

"Desk search day already?" she asked, rolling her chair away from the desk like she did every time. They searched her desk weekly, at random days and random hours. Nora didn't mind. "May I?" She pointed at the rubber band ball. With a smile, Lisa tossed it to her and got started.

The two women chatted while Lisa riffled through her desk. When Peter had told her the searches would be thorough, he hadn't been kidding. Lisa went over the desk with a fine-tooth comb. The process took nearly fifteen minutes.

"All clean," Lisa announced with a smile, standing and brushing her knees off. Nora rolled back into place. "And your purse?"

Nora handed it over and Lisa emptied the contents. The purse, she had realized, was the weak spot in Lisa's thorough sweep. That wasn't Lisa's fault, of course. She simply didn't know exactly how sneaky a con could be with her purse, if the need arose. Nora didn't have anything in her purse, anyway, but it was useful information to file away for later.

She'd barely gotten back to work before Lauren came to a stop in front of her desk. She looked grim. "I just got a call from Peter," she explained. "Something came up. We need to go."

* * *

Nora looked like she was going to puke, Peter realized. She took deep breaths as she paced, keeping her lips pressed tight together. Her face had gone very pale. She was trying not to look at the body, but seemed unable to stop herself from glancing down occasionally. She was practically pressed against the wall, as far as she could be from Dmitri without leaving the room.

"Sex games gone wrong?" Lauren guessed, examining the scene.

Nora seemed to push through the discomfort, her investment in the case outweighing her discomfort. "Could just be a message. A 'you won't shut your mouth, I'll shut it for you,' kinda thing."

"Yeah, but we don't even know if Ghovat was here," Lauren argued.

"No," Peter said, rejoining them after speaking with some other agents. "Our ghost was here." He kept his eye on his CI. It would do none of them any good if she threw up on their crime scene. "The knife wound matches the blade width and angle of penetration on our foreign national killed by Ghovat. It's him."

"Do we know how Ghovat got out of the building?"

Jones came around the corner. "Yeah," he said, not missing a beat. "We found a service elevator down the hall. Wasn't on the reconstruction blue prints."

Nora sighed, playing with her braid. "Which is exactly why he picked this place." She still glanced at the body with wide, panicked eyes, but seemed to be calming down a little. A little less pale.

"This guy's good," Peter begrudgingly admitted.

Nora was staring at the body, for the first time since arriving it seemed. Intrigue was covering the discomfort in her eyes, and she began chewing on her lower lip. _She noticed something_. Peter was surprised when she came around the chairs that she'd kept between her and Dmitri and approached the body, coming to a stop next to Peter. "That dress..."

"It's not off the rack," Peter explained as she bent down to examine it. "There's no tag, which means it's couture." Nora looked back up at him, an eyebrow raised in surprise. Peter shrugged. "We deal with a lot of knock-offs. Ask me what I know about a Prada bag some time."

She refocused on the dress. "Look at this," she said, pulling gently at a spot in the slinky red fabric. "There's a slit here."

Peter examined it. "It's about the size of an electronic security strip. A lot of designers are building them into the clothes."

Nora nodded thoughtfully. "So, basically, it's a mini flash drive?"

"Yeah," Peter agreed, "in theory, you could piggyback up to four gigs on one."

There was a gleam in her eyes again as she started putting pieces together. She no longer looked likely to puke, now fully focused on the case. "That's enough space to smuggle all kinds of information worth killing for." _You would know_, Peter through lightly.

Peter stood. "Lauren, get me a photo book of all the designers who had a show this year," he ordered. "Let's find out who made this dress." The agent walked off, pulling out her cell phone to get it started.

Now that they had found their clue, Nora hastily backed away from the body. She was taking deep breaths, eyes closed. She'd managed to get her discomfort under control long enough to take a look at the dress, but it seemed like she was beginning to lose her composure once again. Peter put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and her eyes flashed open.

"Hey," he said softly, "let's get out of here." She nodded, following him out of the room. They didn't speak for a few minutes. He decided to let her have some time to breathe.

"Are you okay?" he asked once they were out of the building.

She took a deep, calming breath. "Yeah," she said, a little shakey.

"You weren't looking too good back there."

She met his gaze evenly, seeming to think over her words carefully for a moment. She played with the end of her braid again. "Yeah," she admitted. "It's just… I don't really like death. I just..." She shook her head suddenly. "I just don't have much of a stomach for it, I guess."

"There's nothing wrong with that," he told her. "We don't deal with dead bodies every day, but they do turn up in our cases from time to time."

"I noticed," she joked, maybe trying to get her mind away from the morbid and back to more pleasant thoughts.

"There may be cases, like today, where you have to be at a murder scene. If you need a minute, if you feel like you're going to be sick or it's impacting your ability to think about the case, just let me know. You can take all the time you need."

Her eyes were soft. "Thanks, Peter," she mumbled.

"If it makes you feel any better, it gets easier."

She laughed, but there wasn't much humor in it. "That's… kind of horrible, actually."

* * *

An hour after leaving the crime scene, Nora was back to her usual, cheerful self, chatting and generally getting on Peter's nerves. To be honest, he preferred that over her freaking out. Lauren got the book of designers he'd asked for and they poured over it. It didn't take long to find their guy and call him in.

Peter met him in his office. Avet was a nervous looking man with bushy hair and a few days of scruff on his chin. He tensed the second they asked him about Ghovat. "I don't know who this Ghovat is," he insisted. His eyes insisted otherwise.

"You don't know his name, hmm?" Peter asked, pacing around the desk. "Not even by rumor?" He took a seat across from Avet.

Avet wouldn't meet his eyes. "My world is fashion."

"Well, we both know we're not talking about fashion," Peter admitted.

"I have a show this evening I must be prepared for," Avet said, a desperate tone in his Israeli-accented voice.

"That's on hold," Peter told him.

Avet shifted uncomfortably. "You have no reason for any of this." He was very bad at redirecting, too nervous and shifty to lie convincingly. Peter absently wished Nora was half as bad as he was. It would have made his job a lot easier.

"Actually, I do," Peter informed him. "Can you explain why one of _your_ designs showed up at _my_ murder scene?"

"You're the police," Avet muttered. "You tell me."

Peter was done being gentle. Avet seemed like the type to crack once the pressure was on. "Whatever you did resulted in the death of two people," Peter told him.

Avet chewed over this for a moment. He met Peter's gaze. His brown eyes were conflicted, saddened. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost pained. "And if I didn't do it, my son would be dead also."

Peter felt his stomach flip-flop as Avet's words sank in. Peter sighed, rubbing his chin as he thought. "Alright, what happened?" he asked gently.

"A few hours before my team and I are to leave Tel Aviv, my wife calls," he recounted, voice shaking, "tells me that they have my son."

"Ghovat kidnapped your child," Peter summarized, leaning back in his chair.

Avet nodded. "And then I was told to clear my shop and wait for instructions," he continued. "And then he showed up. Told me I had to smuggle something into the States for him."

"What was that something?"

"All I know is that it was in the dress," Avet admitted. Peter believed him. "That's it. After we had cleared customs, I heard from my wife that our son is returned to us."

Peter's heart went out for Avet, it really did. But this case still had a body count and they were no closer to catching Ghavot than they had been after the somewhat-failure of a party. "Alright, look," Peter sighed, leaning in close. "Two people are dead because of whatever you helped bring into the country. Is there anything you can tell me about it?"

Avet hesitated, shifting in his seat again. He bit his lower lip before answering. "Well… I can show you the real dress."

* * *

The dress on the table was an exact replica at the one at the crime scene. Nora's stomach rolled just thinking about it. An agent pulled a long, thin strip of what looked like plastic out of a slit in the fabric, in the same location as the copy dress.

"That's it?" Peter asked.

"I always make two dresses," Avet explained. "I didn't tell him he took the wrong one." Nora suppressed a smile. _Sneaky, sneaky_, she thought. It was exactly something she might have done, given an appropriate situation.

"That makes sense," she offered. "Dmitri shows up to get the dress from Ghovat and finds out it's fake. They struggle, Ghovat makes it out alive." The image of Dmitri's dead body filled her mind. She struggled to send it away. _I just talked to him a couple hours before he died…_ It was somewhat of a surreal thought. And a very distracting one.

Peter was examining the security strip. Lauren shook her head. "So why kill him and bring all that heat?" That was a good question.

Peter had a theory. "He's trying to salvage the deal, but can't if Dmitri's running around telling everyone the technology's no good."

Nora picked up the security strip, biting her lower lip as she looked it over. "What do you think's on this thing?" she asked absently.

Peter shrugged. "Could be launch codes, covert IDs, the formula for new Coke, who knows?" Nora handed the strip back to him and he handed it off to an agent. "But our technology guys will have an answer for us by tomorrow morning.

Lauren looked unsettled. "I don't know," she sighed. "Something that valuable, there's no way Ghovat's going to pack it up and go home."

Peter paused, thinking that over for a moment. He shot a glance at Nora, and she recognized the look he got when he had an idea forming. "I've got a thought," he confirmed, turning to Nora. "Let's take our thread and go fishing."


	25. Fishing

Chapter Twenty-Five

Fishing

Tara looked beautiful in the dress. Peter and Lauren were sitting nearby, watching Nora and Tara walk in side by side. They had Avet convince Ghovat that he had sold the dress to an agent who wanted her model to wear it, for the hefty sum of fifty-thousand dollars.

Nora was off anklet again, wearing a dress almost as beautiful as Tara's. "How long will we have to keep this up?" Tara asked. She was remarkably calm, much more so than she had been at the party. Nora seemed to be a comforting presence to her.

"Just long enough to get noticed," Nora assured her with a calm smile. "You are doing great, Tara."

The model smiled weakly. "I'll be feeling better once this is over."

Nora decided to change the subject, before Tara's composure started to take a hit. "That dress looks great on you, by the way. I wish I was as tall as you are." It was somewhat true; Tara practically towered over Nora. They took a seat at the bar.

Tara laughed. "I only wish I could wear it on the runway." Her voice was wistful.

"Maybe some day you will. Let's get a drink." Tara nodded, and Nora signaled the bartender for two drinks.

While they waited, a waiter with a tray came up behind Tara. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said to Nora, "this just arrived for you." It was a cellphone. It started ringing. _This is it_, Nora thought as she grabbed it.

"Hello?" she said calmly.

"I recognize you from the party," a man with an Israeli accent said from the other end. Nora recognized the voice from Avet's conversation. It was Ghovat. She started scanning the restaurant. He had eyes on her, but where was he?

"Who is this?" she asked, feigning ignorance. Tara eyed her nervously. Nora stood, pacing around, trying to get a better look at the faces around them.

"I saw you steal Dmitri's phone," he dodged.

"Yeah," she admitted. "Easiest way to eliminate the competition, wouldn't you agree?"

"So you know what you have?"

Nora glanced back at Tara. Her brown eyes were wide with concern. "I know _exactly_ what I've got."

"You paid fifty-thousand dollars for the dress," Ghovat said. "I'll pay you five million."

Nora sighed. "See, my client loves the dress so much, I would hate to take it from her for so little." She lowered her voice. "Make it ten, and we'll talk."

There was silence for a moment. "Do you know who you're talking to?" His tone was grave, threatening. _You'll have to try a little harder to scare me, honey_, she thought. If Nora had a dollar for every death threat she'd ever received, she probably wouldn't have had to forge any bonds.

"This is Steve, right?"

"I tried being nice," Ghovat growled. "I tried giving you a choice." Before Nora could respond, the line went dead. With a sigh, Nora snapped the phone closed and returned to Tara.

They chatted idly, staying long enough that it didn't look like they had come to have that conversation, or like Ghovat had scared them. Nora waited a few minutes after Peter and Lauren left to pay the bill. The women met the agents a few blocks away from the restaurant.

Nora recapped what Ghovat had said, and the phone was taken as evidence. Tara was taken back into protective custody by the plain clothes agents Peter had assigned to protect her, and the rest of them returned to the Bureau.

* * *

They wasted no time checking the phone for any evidence that could help them. Everyone was still in their nice clothes from dinner. Peter noticed Nora rubbing at her anklet uncomfortably with the her other foot. If he had to guess, she did not like wearing the dress that showed it off for so long. But she would just have to deal with that a little longer. All the present company knew it was there anyway.

"Nothing on the phone," Peter explained, pacing. "It's a burner. You can pick up one of these at any corner deli. Prints?"

Lauren shook her head. "It's clean."

Jones walked in, face grim. "Agent Burke," he said. It was obvious he had bad news.

"What's up?" Peter asked, not sure if he was prepared for bad news, but knew he needed to hear it anyway.

"We had two plain clothes taking Tara home," he said. "Somebody got to them about half an hour ago."

Peter's blood ran cold. "Got to them how?"

"Blasted the car to hell," he said, swallowing hard. "Fortunately our guys were wearing vests."

Nora sat up in her seat, discomfort forgotten. Her eyes were wide with concern. "What about Tara?" she demanded.

Jones turned to look at her evenly. "They grabbed her," he said softly. "Got away clean." Peter tossed his files down in frustration. Nora looked about on the edge of tears.

The phone started ringing in the evidence bag. They turned to stare at it as if it had caught of fire. Nora glanced back at Peter. He nodded, and she ripped the bag open. She opened it quickly and held it to her ear, listening.

She took a sharp intake of breath. Quickly, she sat the phone down and put it on speaker. "So what now?" she asked, voice low. Despite how tense she looked, her tone was even. She wasn't going to let him hear how upset she was, not giving him a single thing he could use against her.

Peter's agents wasted no time pulling out a laptop, trying to use the call to find Ghovat.

"You want the girl, I want the dress."

"Trade?" Nora suggested. _Good,_ Peter thought, _keep him talking_. "Where and when?"

"I'm not interested in meeting with you," he said. Nora's narrowed her eyes in confusion.

"Then who?"

"Agent. Peter. Burke." They shared a look.

"Why him?" Nora asked.

"Because it's really the FBI who holds the dress," he said simply. "Is he there now?"

Nora hesitated, looking between the Peter and the phone. She sighed silently and sat back down in her chair. "It's for you," she said softly.

Peter's turn. "This is Burke."

"I'm sure you heard everything earlier."

"You want me to make the exchange," Peter confirmed. He needed to keep Ghovat talking. The trace wasn't done yet.

"That's right," Ghovat said. "I won't waste my time telling you to come alone. Just make sure you bring the real dress." _Real generous of you_, Peter thought bitterly.

Peter couldn't help himself. "If it's not, are you gonna make me eat it?"

"That's funny," Ghovat laughed. "Keep this phone on you. You'll meet me at the Central Park Bench tomorrow afternoon at four PM. Plenty of time for you to get your men into position." Ghovat hung up.

They didn't get the location. They all looked defeated, all suddenly very tired. Nora was chewing on her lip, hands folded in front of her face. Her eyes looked misty.

Peter sighed. "It's late," he admitted. "We need to be well-rested if we're going to make a plan. Let's reconvene first thing in the morning."

No one argued.

Nora was very quiet on the way out of the building. Peter walked with her. Despite being out in public, she seemed to have forgotten about her discomfort in having her anklet visible. They were well away from the FBI before she spoke.

"You have to let me go to the exchange tomorrow," she plead. "It's my fault Tara is in trouble. I'm the one who paraded her around town in that dress." So that's what it was about. She felt guilty. _So she has no problems stealing priceless art worth millions of dollars, but blames herself for something that had been my idea to begin with?_ Sometimes he really wished he could tell what was going on in her head.

"The best thing you can do is help me figure out what Ghovat's game plan is," Peter said gently. "He knows we're going to have the place staked out."

Nora nodded thoughtfully. "He knows you're running your playbook." The FBI had standard procedures for a reason. But when your target knew them, there was a problem. That was part of the reason it had taken him so long to find Nora; she knew what they were going to do, and planned her next move around that. Peter had to learn to become unpredictable to get close to her.

"Right," he agreed, "so we're going to toss the old one, come up with a new plan."

She shook her head. "No," she insisted, a small smile forming. "No, you don't. That's the point. He _expects_ you to have a plan. He's counting on it. It makes his job easier."

"So I do nothing?" Peter asked, baffled. _The logical gymnastics she must have to do to reach these conclusions…_ The spark her eyes took when she thought she was onto something had replaced the worry and guilt.

"Roll with it." As if it was really that simple

"Like you would." She grinned.

"He expects you to have a plan. Don't have one."

Peter sighed. "That's the worst idea ever." That just wasn't how the FBI worked. It might be the solution in Nora's world, but in Peter's, just _rolling with it_ sounded like a great way to get someone killed.

She shrugged. "Prepare all you can, just know it's all going to change." Maybe she did have a point there. There was only so much they could prepare for, only so many contingencies they could have in place. If Ghovat was prepared for them… none of it would matter.

"What would you do?" he asked softly.

She thought for a moment, meeting his gaze evenly. "I would go home and have dinner with my wife." Peter smiled, patting her on the shoulder, and they parted ways. _Tomorrow is going to be a long day_.


	26. Roll With It

Chapter Twenty-Six

Roll With It

It had been a long, restless night. From the looks of it, everyone agreed. Nora sat with the agents in the conference room, everyone looking as anxious and high-strung as she felt. Hughes paced as he started going over their plan. "Now, Ghovat wants the dress because it's been tagged with a security device. We cracked the thread this morning. It's holding the holographic code of the latest European currency seal."

Nora and Peter shared a knowing glance. "We're using a counterfeit code," Hughes continued. "We're hoping he won't be able to tell the difference, but if he does, this could go south fast."

Peter sighed. "We're putting this girl's life at risk," he said, voice thick.

Hughes regarded him evenly. "We could be putting the entire monetary system of Europe at risk," he countered. "Guess who wins." That didn't sit well with Nora; it was almost cold. _The good of the many over the good of the few_, she thought. It wasn't an ideal she agreed with.

Hughes was back to going over the plan. "I'll be running point, we'll have eyes in the air, plain clothes on the ground. Cruz, Jones, you're with me. Burke, you know what you gotta do."

Peter nodded. Nora noticed a distinct lack of her in the plan. She raised her hand. Hughes glared at her. "Caffrey, put your hand down," he sighed. She raised it more insistently. "Put it down!"

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, ignoring his threatening tone. "I was just wondering where I'll be."

"On a coffee run," he snapped. Nora opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "You're not even supposed to _be_ here." She shut her mouth. "Any questions?" No one said anything. "Then let's get into position."

The agents started moving, scrambling to get everything in place. Nora grumbled. Peter gave her a warning look, but didn't have time to talk to her; he needed to get ready.

* * *

Technically, she did go on a coffee run, like Hughes had ordered. Technically, she wasn't breaking any rules. He didn't tell her she _couldn't_ join them in the surveillance van after getting said coffee. Oh, sure, it was implied, but he really should have been more precise with his orders. Besides, there was no way Ghovat _hadn't_ already made the municipal utilities van.

She knocked on the door. "Can I come in?" No one answered. Then the door swung open, revealing a very angry Hughes. She grinned.

"Get in," he growled. "Close the door." She did. She squeezed in, taking a seat as far away from angry Hughes as she could. Then it was a waiting game.

Peter was on the screen, waiting. They had ears on him. They watched him pull the phone out of his pocket, examining the screen briefly before answering it. He started signaling with his fingers as he spoke to Ghovat.

"He's signaling us," Lauren's voice said over her microphone. "5-5-5-3-1-4-7."

Hughes nodded. "He's giving us Ghovat's incoming phone number. Get me a trace."

Jones was already working on it. "Yup," he said, typing away. "I'm on it."

Nora smiled. "Good, Peter." Peter continued his conversation. Then he took off running.

"Everybody, stay where you are," he shouted, puffing as he ran. "Stay where you are!"

"Everybody hold your position," Hughes barked. The plain clothes stood down. "We still got him on GPS, right?"

"Yeah," Jones confirmed. They no longer had eyes on him, but they could still hear him.

Suddenly, they heard Ghovat's voice faintly over Peter's wire. "Go get the dress." Nora listened, hardly breathing. "If you'll notice, Agent Burke, I've added a little fashion accessory of my own to our model friend here. The belt is lined with plastique." Ice ran through Nora's veins. "I dial a number here, and she goes boom."

_It's detonated with his phone…_she thought, the seed of a plan beginning to sprout in her mind. Ghovat continued. "Give her the dress. Toss it. Please, don't try anything. I have five bars and free long distance. I can be very far away and still cause you pain."

Hughes' jaw was tight. "Let him walk," he ordered. "Even if he's bluffing, we can't take the chance." Nora's faith in him was restored, a little bit.

Nora pulled out her phone and dialed the number Peter had signaled to them. It rang, and Ghovat answered. "Yes?"

"Hey!" she greeted cheerfully. All of the agents' eyes snapped toward her. "Is this Steve? You never call me anymore," she feigned a hurt tone. "Was it something I said?"

He hung up. Nora stood. She could get to him. "Keep calling him!" she ordered. "Jam his phone so he can't trigger the bomb. Keep calling him!" They all pulled out their phones and began dialing.

"Cruz, stay with Caffrey," Hughes ordered. "Everyone else, keep dialing." She jumped out of the van.

She ran. Lauren ran after her. She flew past Peter and Tara. Peter stared after her, bewildered. "We're jamming his phone," she shouted. "Hurry up and get the belt off of her!"

She caught up to Ghovat. He was frustrated, knuckles white where he clutched his phone tightly. "Hey, Steve," she called, coming to a stop a few feet away.

If she was being honest, that is where her plan ended. She knew Lauren had been running behind her, but the agent hadn't yet caught up.

Ghovat spun around, pulling out a gun. _Yep, sounds about right, _she thought. _Maybe I was a little hasty._

"Now what?" he asked. She didn't answer. Nora knew better than to hope he would be against shooting her, in public, in broad daylight, with a dozen FBI agents in the vicinity. Luckily, Lauren had finally caught up.

She was running at top speed and barreled into him, tacking him to the ground and knocking his gun from his hand. She pulled out a pair of handcuffs, wasting no time in restraining him. Nora grinned. "_That_ is pretty damn charming," she admitted.

She left Ghovat to Lauren as several other agents came up to help her, and returned to where Peter and Tara had been. She watched as Peter ordered everyone to clear the area and tossed the belt as far as he could, shielding Tara with his body. It didn't go off.

Nora walked up to them, her heels clacking on the pavement. They looked up. She grinned at Peter. "Aw," she teased, "look at you, being all heroic." She offered them each a hand and helped them up to their feet.

"Yeah," Peter admitted, somewhat sheepish. "Well, people are going to write songs about this." Nora laughed. Peter returned his attention to Tara. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. She looked very pale and trembled slightly, but the danger was gone. She was going to be fine. Nora gave her a hug.

"I took down Ghovat," Nora told Peter proudly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?" She nodded. "All on your own?"

"Well," she said shiftily, "Lauren _might've_ helped a little." Peter laughed, clapping her on the shoulder. "So, really, it was a team effort."

Peter stared at her for a moment, beaming. "Way to roll with it."


	27. Kyle's Message

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kyle's Message

Their case was wrapped up cleanly. Tara was able to go home and sleep soundly, knowing her troubles were over… Peter wouldn't have been surprised if she needed months of therapy to fully recover, but she was safe, and that was what mattered.

Nora was relieved. She had been really worried, though of course she wasn't going to admit that. Peter watched her, sipping on a cup of coffee from some cafe a few blocks away while she worked on her paperwork. There was a lot of it on a case like Ghovat's, but she didn't complain.

She had done good work. Peter thought back to their conversation a couple days prior. _The last time Kyle visited me in prison before he disappeared… You watched the security tape? I would really like to see it, if that's okay_. Peter still wasn't sure it was a good idea, but he had agreed.

He held the flash drive in his hand, turning it over idly as he looked down into the bullpen at her. _Help me wrap up this case, and I'll see what I can do_, he'd told her. She claimed she wanted closure. Maybe seeing it, letting it sink in, would help her finally let go.

Or maybe it would just reopen the wound. She was one of the best liars he had ever met, after all. Everything she told him, he had to put under a microscope. He sighed. She had asked him if he trusted her, and he had immediately answered that no, he didn't. And it was the truth.

But maybe she deserved more credit than that. _I'll never be able to trust her if I never give her the chance to prove that __she deserves it_, he thought_. _Then he laughed to himself. He was beginning to sound like Elizabeth.

With a final sigh, he stood and held the flash drive in his pocket. She greeted him with a smile as he approached her desk. "Heading out?" she asked. "I'm just finishing up my report."

"Good," he said. He hesitated. His hand clenched around the flash drive. She looked up at him quizzically, waiting for him to say something. "You did good work on this case." She beamed at the praise. _Give her the chance to prove it_.

Slowly, he placed the flash drive in front of her. "What's this?" she asked, picking it up and inspecting it.

"That's the security tape from your last visit with Kyle." Her eyes lit up, and she held the drive tightly, as if he might try and change his mind, try to take it away from her. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Thank you, Peter," she breathed, tucking the drive in her purse. "It means a lot."

He nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

* * *

Nora couldn't wait to get home. She rushed through the rest of her report, submitting it. The second she was done, she texted Mozzie. 'I got it. Meet me ASAP.' Peter had already left. She made her way home as fast as she could.

Mozzie was waiting for her when she got there. He already had a laptop open and ready to go. "The suit gave you the tape?"

She held up the flash drive. He smiled, but Nora couldn't return it. She felt like her stomach was doing somersaults. Her heart pounded in her chest. She plugged the drive in.

"It was nice of your FBI friend to give you this," Mozzie remarked.

"Shhh!" she hissed, smacking him lightly on the arm.

He rolled his eyes. "There's no sound," he protested. "Why are you shushing me?" She didn't dignify that with a response. Mozzie watched for a moment. "Did he always cut his hair that short?"

Nora sighed, "Yeah, way past that…" In the video, Kyle looked unhappy. Nora bit her lip. "Look, do you see that?" She pointed to his hand. He had stood to leave, and his finger tapped slowly, unevenly against his leg. That was not one of his usual ticks when he was upset or uncomfortable. She zoomed in, replaying the video. "Morse code," she breathed.

Mozzie leaned in, now focused. "B-O- double T-L-E."

"Bottle..." Nora stood suddenly. The bottle was on the shelf. That was why he had left it, when she had broken out of prison to find him. It was some kind of clue.

Nora picked it up, examining it for what felt like the billionth time since Peter had given it back to her after her release. "What do you think it means?" Mozzie asked, peering around her shoulder.

She shook her head. "I have no idea." Kyle had gone out of his way to leave the message, something he thought she would be able to understand. She had to find it.

_The bottle means goodbye_, she had told Peter. And, at the time, that was what she had thought. But, after seeing the video, it seemed the opposite was true. _How many times are you going to screw your life up for some guy_?

_Sorry, Peter_, she thought. _I need to know_.


	28. Routine

_I posted two chapters (27 & 28) today, because Chapter 27 is really short, so make sure you don't skip it! Hope you've been enjoying the story!_

_-Selkie_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Routine

The next couple week passed quickly. After a case like Ghovat's, getting back to routine was a bit tedious. Nora woke up in the morning, ate, charged her anklet, and got ready for the day. If it was nice, she would walk to the office, stopping to grab a cup of coffee along the way. If it rained, Peter would usually offer to pick her up, rather than making her pay cab fare. Once at the office, she would usually spend her morning at her desk, working on various cases or doing paperwork. Around noon, Peter would come down to her desk and ask if she wanted to go to lunch. The answer was always yes. They would spend an hour at whatever cafe or deli they agreed on that day, eating and chatting, before heading back. From there, they would either discuss their current cases in Peter's office or in the conference room with the rest of the team. At the end of the day, she would go home. Most days, Mozzie was there and they would discuss the bottle, or various other activities. Sometimes they would have dinner with June. Then she went to bed, ready to start over the next morning.

It wasn't the most exciting, but the routine was actually somewhat comforting for Nora. After spending four years in prison, where everything was a routine, she occasionally found herself somewhat overwhelmed with the sheer amount of options available to her during her free time. Peter would complain that she was indecisive about picking a restaurant, or making a choice when she ordered, but something about the _volume_ of options available, to someone who was used to having none, was a bit jarring at times. The sensation gradually faded some as time passed, but occasionally it would resurface in the strangest situations.

Then there was Peter. She was still sorting through her feelings about her handler. At times, things seemed like they were going well. The team meshed well together, closing case after case. Peter would praise her for her good work, and the arrogant part of Nora would swell at the praise, as if to say 'damn straight I did good work.' Even when she was playing for the other team, she excelled. Other times, she would joke, make some offhand remark, or just generally be her smart-ass self, and Peter would go off. Sometimes it was just a glare. Others, a lecture. If he was really mad, he would just flat-out yell. Navigating his temper was a slow going process. If she pointed that out, he would huff and tell her he wouldn't get mad if she stopped being so infuriating, as if the whole thing was her fault.

On one hand, in her mind, Peter was still 'the enemy,' a fed. She wore a tightly-guarded mask around him, careful about what she said at all times. It was actually sort of exhausting. On the other hand, she occasionally felt comfortable letting her guard slip a little bit, relaxing. Like maybe it was okay to let him in for a couple minutes at a time, in small, non-incriminating increments.

She hadn't confided in Mozzie about that particular feeling. He would scoff, tell her that she was going native on him. Maybe he would be right. She was, at her core, still a con. Why would she ever feel like letting her guard down around a suit would be a good idea? It was just an invitation for trouble.

Nora was knocked out of her thoughts by Mozzie, tap tap tapping away at the table. They stared the bottle for what felt like the hundredth time since discovering Kyle's message, and Nora's thoughts had begun to wander off. But Mozzie just kept tapping and tapping and tapping…

"Please stop," she snapped, glaring at him. She took a deep breath. He didn't seem too offended, thankfully, because she really didn't want to have to apologize.

"It's part of my process," he said dryly. Nora picked up the bottle, running her fingers over it once again. "Look. Either you taught him _too_ well, or it's just a bottle." No, Nora didn't believe that. Mozzie had seen Kyle's message. He meant the bottle. It was the only explanation.

"No," she argued. "There's something here. This is the only thing he left me, Moz." She met his eyes evenly. "You saw the message too. We're just missing something."

Mozzie looked like he was about to disagree, which Nora really did not want to hear, but she was saved by the bell – or, rather, by her phone. It rang, buzzing insistently on the table. She raised an eyebrow before answering.

"Hello?"

"You on your way down?"

Nora sighed. Peter had given her a couple minutes warning that he was on his way, but Nora didn't realize he was going to be so fast. Something must have been up. "Yeah, Peter, I'll be down in five-"

"No, now," he argued. "We've got to go."

"Okay," she huffed. "I'm coming right now." She hung up with a sigh.

"The man interferes yet again," Mozzie sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

Nora rolled her eyes. "Can you please-?" she asked, pointing at the bottle before standing. She didn't have time for his sass. The last thing he needed was for Peter to get impatient and decided to come drag her out. She wasn't quite sure he _would _do that, but she didn't really want to test him.

"Yes, I'll take it back to the lab, run some tests."

"You don't have a lab," she said dryly, picking up her purse. "You have a storage unit."

Mozzie waved a hand dismissively. "Semantics."

She took a breath. "Sorry, I'm snapping at you," she said. "I'm just a little high-strung right now. I appreciate your help." She patted him on the head, somewhat patronizingly.

He brushed her away. "Go. Don't want to keep the suit waiting." She smiled at him. No more needed to be said. They had been friends for years; he understood how she got when she was stressed, and while it wasn't fair of her to take it out on him, he could hardly say he wasn't used to it. Sometimes she felt bad about it, but it really didn't seem to bother him. Whenever she tried to genuinely apologize, he would spout off something about a con never needing to say they're sorry. He might get mad on occasion, but he usually remained a supportive, grounding figure. Perhaps he realized he wasn't the easiest person to get along with either. That really didn't make it better.

"What took you so long?" Peter demanded the second she took a seat in the car. He seemed more high-strung than usual. Something was bothering him.

"Good morning to you too, Peter," she said dryly as she buckled her seat belt. He glared, and she sighed. "You didn't give me much warning. You know I have to _charge_ this thing for, like, an hour every morning, right?" She lifted her leg a little for emphasis.

Peter sighed. "Sorry," he said evenly. "We've got a new case, and I guess I'm just a bit on edge."

"It's fine," she assured him. "What's our case?"

Peter motioned to a file in the back seat, and she reached to grab it. "You know we've been sitting on the Berelli crime family for a while, trying to get information on their book making operation in Masso's, right?" Nora nodded, thumbing through their file. It wasn't a case she had a lot of involvement in, as organized crime wasn't really her thing. "Well, Berelli came up to our surveillance team this morning, asking for help."

She glanced at Peter quizzically. "Damn, that's bold," she said with a laugh. "Even I'm not _that _arrogant."

"Tell me about it," Peter agreed. "Anyway, apparently some medieval bible was stolen, and from what I gather, it's worth a pretty penny. We're heading to the church it was stolen from now."

"What do we care that his bible was stolen?" she asked.

"He knows we've been sitting on him," Peter explained. "If we've got eyes on him at all times, he's not able to go after the thief himself without giving us some pretty incriminating evidence. So, we made something of a deal."

"Oh, yeah?"

"He's shutting down his operation in Masso's in exchange for our help."

"He must be desperate," Nora decided. "Though, it's not going to last very long." Of course, Peter knew that.

"That's a problem we can worry about after we find the bible."

* * *

Lauren met them at the church and introduced them to Father D'Allesio. Berelli was also waiting, nodding cordially at them as D'Allesio led them inside. Peter wasted no time asking about the bible.

"The bible belonged to the church of Saint Camillus De Lellis in Naples," he explained. Peter noticed Nora surveying the church as they walked with scrutinizing eyes, chewing absently on her lower lip. "It was brought here in 1903. Been the heart of our parish." The Father sighed. "Now this." Agents were dusting a case, presumably where it had been stored, for fingerprints. The glass was shattered.

Lauren came to a stop beside them. "No alarm, no witnesses, no sign of forced entry," she informed them. "It looks like a smash and dash."

Peter turned his attention back to D'Allesio. "Anything unusual that night, Father?"

He thought for a seconds and shook his head. "No," he sighed. "Not that I recall."

Peter sighed, turning back to Lauren. Of course it couldn't be so easy. "Have ERT run the prints against the parish roster," he ordered. "Something tells me we'll get a few matches."

Berelli stepped forward. "Nobody from this parish stole that bible," he insisted, rather defensive.

Peter rounded on him. "Oh, sure," he scoffed. "You guys are all choir boys, right Berelli?"

Nora leaned in toward Peter. "I notice a distinct lack of security cameras." _She would_, Peter thought with a note of amusement.

"The Lord sees all," Berelli said, pointing up. "And that's good enough for us." Peter noticed Nora roll her eyes, stifling a laugh.

Peter ignored her. "Maybe I'm getting my say whatevers mixed up," he said, looking between the Father and Berelli, "but didn't you used to run a soup kitchen?" A desperate homeless person could have stolen the bible – assuming Berelli was correct, and all of his parishioners turned out to be 'innocent.'

Father D'Allesio stiffened, glancing uncomfortably at Berelli. "Not anymore," he said tightly.

Peter asked a few more questions, but they frankly weren't very productive. The initial sweep of the crime scene turned up no leads, and Peter was forced to put the investigation on hold until they got lab and ERT results back. Peter and Nora walked out empty handed.

"I've got to get back to the office," Peter said, checking his watch. "Think you can check with your street contacts, see if anything turns up?"

"Yeah," she agreed, "I'll see what I can find."

"Thanks," Peter muttered. "Do you need a ride?"

She shook her head. "We're not far from June's." Peter's initial reaction was to look at her suspiciously, but shook away the feeling. She pulled out her cell phone and seemed to be texting already. Maybe she just wanted some privacy while she got a hold of her 'contacts.'

"Right," he agreed. "Well, meet me back at the office in an hour or so."

She smiled. "Will do."


	29. True Believer

Chapter Twenty-Nine

True Believer

Mozzie met her back at her apartment. She wondered idly if he had actually even left, as the bottle was still sitting on the table where she had left it. She decided not to ask. She found him sitting on the balcony. "So, a bible," he asked, as she came out to join him.

"Yeah," she confirmed, "a bible." She tossed the file she had gotten from Peter down on the table, and he began flipping through it. He was silent for a moment, and she waited until he closed the file before speaking. "Who steals a _bible_?" she blurted out as they walked back inside. Nora wasn't a religious person, but the idea of stealing religious objects just didn't sit right with her.

Mozzie scoffed. "People steal everything."

"Why would we steal one?" The thought seemed to make Moz as uncomfortable as it had made her. "Theoretically," she added hastily.

He considered this for a moment. "Um… They're rare," he offered.

She bit her lip. "Nah… that makes them valuable, sure, but it's not like it's a Picasso. It'd be a niche market. Tough to fence." She laughed, stopping at the counter to pour them each a drink. "People get weird about buying stolen religious artifacts."

"I think it's an irony thing," Mozzie mused. "That pesky eighth commandment."

Nora chuckled. "Thou shall not steal." Obviously, she didn't follow that particular commandment. She took a sip of her drink.

"Well, it depends on what's important to people," Mozzie continued. "Did you know that an original Star Trek dome lunchbox goes for six hundred buck?" Nora raised an eyebrow at him. He held his hands up defensively. "I don't try to explain it."

"_Why_ do you know that?" He didn't answer, just offered a simple shrug. _He's Moz_, she reminded herself. _Why _wouldn't_ he know that_? She sighed, waving her hand dismissively. "Moving on. Why our missing bible? Why _this one_ specifically?"

"Well, your missing book is famous," he explained, as if it should have been obvious.

"Famous?" She rubbed her temple. He'd known that but didn't see fit to mention it sooner?

"It's known as the healing bible."

"Really?" She was intrigued. There could be a whole slew of motives attached to that. "Attribution."

Mozzie began rattling off from a list of information he had somehow had time to gather in the time it took her to get back home from the church. "In 1588, the Plague passed through Naples. Father Camillus carried the book into disease-stricken ships in the harbor. Not a single person who touched the bible died."

"Nice story," she said skeptically.

He continued. "Twenty years later, a blind girl regained her sight when she rescued the book from a fire." Nora rolled her eyes. "I could give you more examples," he offered.

"Please, don't." She thought for a moment. A theory was beginning to form in her mind. "Maybe you don't steal it for the money," she said slowly. "Maybe you steal it because you're a true believer." She finished the rest of her drink.

"You find someone connected to the church," Mozzie said, taking a sip of his own drink, "someone who is sick, or has a friend or family member who is, and you find your bible."

"Bingo." She took his papers, folding them neatly and tucking them in her purse. "Thanks for the help, Moz. I gotta get back to the office."

He nodded, still sipping his drink leisurely. She rolled her eyes, but left him to his devices. Peter was in his office when she stepped out of the elevator. She stopped to set the papers Mozzie gave her on her desk. Peter saw her as she walked through the glass doors and stood to come meet her as she helped herself to a cup of tar-coffee.

Nora grinned. "Oh," Peter said, smiling himself. "I know that look. You got something?"

"I might," she admitted. "Turns out our book has a history. It's known as a healing bible. Religious artifacts are hard to sell. So, what if our thief didn't steal it to sell it? What if they stole it because they're a true believer?"

"A true believer?" Peter asked, incredulous.

Nora raised an eyebrow. "You got something better?" she challenged.

Peter opened a file he was holding. "Every person in that church has a felony record," he explained. "Only people I don't suspect are the ones in prison."

Nora shrugged. "So, let's start with the faithful."

Peter referred to his file. "It cures blind nuns and lepers," he summarized. "Sounds like every story in Sunday school." They came to a stop next to Nora's desk.

"Look at this," she sighed, picking up the papers and handing them to Peter. "In 1918, thirty thousand people in New York died from the Spanish Flu. No one in this parish even caught a cold."

Peter didn't look convinced, but he did see the sense in what she was saying. "Maybe whoever took it thinks it's going to heal them."

Nora nodded. "It's worth checking into," she said.

Peter nodded. "Okay, let's go talk to Father D'Allesio."

* * *

Back at the church, it seemed Barelli had left. The area around the bible's case was sectioned off with police tape, but no agents lingered around. Peter looked around once again when they entered. A few parishioners sat in the pews silently, heads bowed in prayer. "Nobody in this church caught the flu," he repeated, skeptical. His voice echoed loudly.

Nora laughed. "It's true," she assured him.

"Why these guys, and not the church down the block? Because of some book?" he scoffed. "Tough to swallow." A few of the people cast wary glances their way.

Nora stared at him for a second. "I thought you were Catholic?"

"Lapsed," Peter explained, not bothering to ask how she knew that to begin with.

"So you don't think some higher power could have saved the congregation?" she asked lightly. She personally didn't buy into it either, but something about Peter's skepticism amused her. And, of course, she couldn't help but pick and prod at him when the chance arose.

"I'm more inclined to think they kept the doors shut and loaded up on vitamin C," he admitted.

She grinned. "Maybe God works with what he's got," she countered. It wasn't that she _didn't_ believe in God, per se. Whether he existed or not just didn't really matter to her. She was who she was; she wasn't going to pretend to be anything else on the chance an all-powerful being actually cared.

Peter scoffed. "And God said shut thine door and eat thine oranges?"

Nora shrugged. "Why not?"

Peter regarded her for a moment. "Alright, look," he said, taking the conversation a lot more seriously than she had been. "When they dug up King Tut, everyone made such a big deal out of the curse of the Pharaoh."

"Yeah," she argued, "two dozen people who entered the tomb ended up dead." Peter didn't seem surprised she knew that. Ancient history and grave robbery was right in line with her interests.

"Yeah," Peter laughed, "they probably caught some old bacterial infection. Germs. There's your divine intervention."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "God can't use bacteria?" She was just arguing for the sake of arguing, she realized. She didn't disagree with Peter.

Peter shook his head. "I prefer my miracles with a little more smiting and lightning."

Nora was about to counter that, when Father D'Allesio came up behind them. "Can I help you?" he asked.

Peter turned his attention to the priest. "Thanks for seeing us again, Father," Peter said. "We wanted to run down one thing. You didn't tell us your bible was also known as a healing bible."

He shifted for a second before answering. "I didn't think it was relevant," he admitted.

"Could be," Peter said. "Was there anybody in your church who was a… true believer of the healing power of the bible."

He didn't answer immediately. "Someone who was terminally ill," Nora pressed. "Someone who had a sick family member?"

D'Allesio cast his eyes down and sighed. "I was afraid this might happen," he sighed, pacing away.

"What?" Peter inquired.

D'Allesio took a breath. "Mr. Barelli has discouraged the homeless from the church," he explained.

"He made you shut down the soup kitchen," Peter guessed. The Father nodded. "How Christian of him."

"The night of the theft," the Father continued, "I let a homeless man sleep in the sanctuary. His name's Steve."

"Is he sick?" Peter asked softly.

"No," the Father admitted, "but someone very close to him is." Peter and Nora exchanged a glance. The hard, inquisitive look in Peter's eyes had softened. Their lead had taken a sad turn.

"Do you know where we can find Steve?" Nora asked. "Anywhere he spends a lot of time, or any routine you might know he follows?"

The Father thought about this for a moment. "I think he spends a lot of time in the park a few blocks away," he told them.

"What does he look like?" Peter asked.

"He's African-American, average height and build I would say. He has a short beard, he usually wears a camouflage hat. And he has a dog."

Peter nodded. "Thank you for your time, Father."

"You're welcome. Let me know if I can be of any further help to you later." With that, they parted ways. Peter and Nora set off down the block, hoping they would be able to find Steve.

They reached the park quickly and surveyed the area. "Peter," Nora said, motioning to a bench several feet away. A black man with a short beard and a camo hat sat petting a dog. "He matches our description." Peter nodded and they approached.

"Steve?" Peter asked gently, getting the man's attention. He looked up with wide eyes, not responding. "Hi… Uh, my name's Peter. This is my friend, Nora."

"Hi," he said timidly.

"Do you mind if we ask you some questions?" He didn't answer, just continued petting his dog. "The church you stayed in last week, they're missing a bible. You know anything about it?"

He looked at Peter sheepishly. "Yeah, I took it," he admitted. Peter and Nora exchanged a look. _That was easy_, she thought.

"Great," Peter said. Nora wondered if he was going to let Steve off with just a warning, convince Barelli not to press charges - or go after him himself. Steve didn't look like the criminal type. "We need it back."

Steve shook his head, frantic. "No," he said, "no, I need it back."

"What do you mean?" Nora asked, regretting prematurely thinking the case had been easy. "Where is it?"

"I took it from the church, like he asked me to," Steve explained. "Now he said that he would show me how to help Lucy get better. Then he took it from me. Now he has not brought it back." His eyes were desperate. "Do you know where he is?"

"No," Peter admitted. "I wish I did."

"Who asked you to take the bible from the church?" Nora asked softly.

"Look," he huffed, "he said that he would help Lucy get better." He motioned down at the dog. "She's not getting better, okay? She's getting worse." His voice trembled.

Nora's heart sank. Lucy, the one who was sick, was his dog. She felt awful for poor Steve. "What's wrong with her?" she asked as she knelt down in front of Lucy, petting her softly on head.

"She's tired all the time," Steve explained sadly. "She don't eat nothing. Now, if I could get that bible back, she'll get better." Nora continued petting Lucy.

"The man who asked you to take the bible," Peter continued. "Did you meet him at the church?"

"Yeah." Nora stood.

"Steve, if we showed you some pictures, do you think you could recognize him?" Peter asked.

Steve's voice shook as he spoke. "We just need to the get bible back, okay?" he plead. "'Cause she's fading, alright?"

Peter and Nora exchanged a glance. "We want to help Lucy," Nora assured him gently. "To get the bible back, we need you to help us. Will you come with us?"

Steve looked down at Lucy. "Okay," he agreed, standing. They walked with him to the car. Steve laid a blanket down in the back seat, and he and Lucy climbed in.

While they drove, Peter called Lauren to ask her to get mug shots ready for Steve to look through. "Where are we going?" Steve asked after Peter hung up. "To a police station?"

"Actually," Peter said, "we're FBI, not police." Steve didn't respond. He just stared sadly at Lucy, stroking her head softly.


	30. Paul Ignazio

Chapter Thirty

Paul Ignazio

Nora and Peter were headed up to check on Steve. "Glad we followed your hunch," Peter admitted. She beamed. "Hope it takes us somewhere."

"Oh, ye of little faith," she teased.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Been waiting all day to drop that one, huh?" Her eyes gleamed.

"I've been sitting on it since lunch," she said. They stopped to get a cup of coffee. Lauren, who was sitting with Steve in the conference room, saw them and excused herself. She looked tired and frustrated.

"That bad?" Nora asked as she came to a stop before them.

She took a deep breath. "Yeah, that bad was almost an hour ago." Peter began pouring a cup of coffee, but the pot was nearly empty. He started shaking the pot, attempting to shake out every last drop, looking at Lauren like a helpless puppy. "Just give me the damn thing," she snapped, snatching it out of his hands and refilling it. Nora laughed. She had been on the receiving end of Peter's coffee pot helplessness her fair share of times. It was something she and Diana had complained about behind his back.

Peter headed for the stairs. "Better get used to that," Nora mouthed to Lauren as she followed him. Steve looked as tired and frustrated as Lauren had.

"No luck, huh?" Peter asked gently.

Steve sighed. "No not… not really. Look, um… I'm sorry I'm not more help to you. My bell got rung pretty good in Fallujah."

Peter froze. "You were in Iraq?"

"Yeah," Steve said. "It's where I found Lucy. We called in this predator strike on this trigger house. Two hellfires came in and just destroyed everything. And I hear this little whimpering, so I lift up this piece of roof and there she was, just wagging her tail."

Peter sighed, studying Steve for a moment. "Do you think you could look at one more book?"

Steve looked back at Lucy. "Yeah."

Peter's attention caught on a commotion downstairs. Hughes was ordering agents. He came up to join them in the conference room, Jones following behind him. "What's going on?" Peter asked.

"One of Barelli's men just got shot," Hughes explained heavily.

"Who?"

"Paul Ignazio," Jones said, sliding a file across the table. A photo of Paul was paperclipped to the front cover. "Barelli's number two."

"Barelli's nephew," Peter sighed, picking up the file.

Steve peered at the file in Peter's hands. "That's him," he said suddenly.

Peter could hardly believe it. "Who?" he asked, just to be sure.

"That's the guy who asked me to take the bible," Steve confirmed. The agents, and Nora, shared glances. What were the odds? His death had to be related some how.

"Let's go," Hughes said. It was rare that Hughes went to a crime scene himself. They couldn't waste any time. Jones stayed behind to coordinate.

In the car, Peter noticed Nora was being very quiet and glanced over at her. She was pale, gripping her purse tightly enough that her knuckles were turning white. Then he remembered. It was very similar to how she looked when they had to investigate Dmitri's murder.

"You okay?" he asked. She didn't turn to look at him, eyes locked straight ahead. Her lips were pressed tight shut, jaw set in a hard line. She didn't speak, instead nodded once, stiffly. Peter sighed. "You don't have to pretend to be okay for my sake, you know."

She took a deep breath. "Yeah, I know." Her voice was tight, forced.

She was not okay, but she also wasn't about to admit it, he realized. Maybe she thought she had something to prove to him, or maybe she just wanted to prove something to herself. Peter sighed. "Look, I'll make you a deal," he said gently. "You stay on stand by near the crime scene. If I find anything you need to look at, then I'll come get you. If I don't find anything, then you don't have to see the crime scene. Sound good?"

She seemed to consider this for a moment, perhaps weighing her discomfort at the thought of having to see a dead body against her dislike of being left out of the investigation. Finally, she relaxed a little, tense shoulders slacking some, grip on her purse loosening. "Okay, let's go with that plan."

Peter smiled a little. She still looked pale and uncomfortable, but she seemed to be breathing more evenly. They didn't speak the rest of the ride. When they reached the harbor, Peter parked a fair distance away. The police line was visible, and they could see agents milling about, but there was no way she would be able to see the body if she happened to glance in the wrong direction.

Peter pulled his FBI windbreaker out of the back seat. Before heading off to the scene, he turned to Nora. "You can stay in the car, if you want," he offered. "Or wait down the pier. Just, don't wander off too far."

"How far is too far?" she asked, eyes now sparkling a little._ Glad to see she's feeling a little better_, he thought, though she still looked pale.

"If you leave this pier, you're too far," he told her. That gave her a little leeway, he decided. If he looked back toward the car, he would still be able to see her if she stayed on the pier. "I think there's some benches down that way." He pointed vaguely toward the water.

"Alright," she agreed.

Peter got out without waiting to see if she would stay in the car or not. He heard the car door close as he started walking away. He trusted her to stay within the boundary he set, and if she didn't there were agents everywhere and Jones back at the Bureau who could pull up her tracking data.

Hughes was already at the scene. They walked together to the body. "Where's Caffrey?" he asked, though he didn't really seem to care.

"She's… on stand by," he said. "Murders aren't really her area."

The body was covered by a sheet. Peter crouched down next to it and pulled it back. "That's our boy," he confirmed. He looked closer. "Close range."

"No eye witnesses," Hughes added.

"Not waterlogged, so it's… fresh." There was a bullet shell on a plank near the body. Peter picked it up with the end of a pen and examined it. "Twenty-five caliver casing. European gage?"

"Twenty-two caliber," a familiar voice huffed from behind. Peter spun around. "This is Brooklyn, buddy, not Bavaria." Peter sighed in frustration. The man crouched down, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. "Pete Burke. This is a homicide, not an art exhibit, what are you doing here?"

"Ruiz," Peter hissed. "I see they let you out of your cubicle." Ruiz had been something of a rival of his for years.

"Yeah," he allowed. "This is my show now." Peter stood, glancing at Hughes who was watching in mute interest. "Where's your pet convict?" Peter had made the joke many times himself, mostly just to see Nora bristle in annoyance, but coming from Ruiz's mouth, it was almost enough to make his blood boil.

"I left her in the car with the windows cracked," he said dryly.

"What are you doing on my crime scene?"

Peter glared. "This tails into my case," he insisted.

Ruiz didn't look convinced. "This is _mob retaliation_," he argued. "It's my investigation now. You don't believe me, ask Hughes."

Peter rounded on Reese. Hughes pulled him away before Peter could start protesting. "Now, don't," he warned. "Don't start with me." Peter huffed. He said that to Nora all the time, when she complained about Peter's rules and decisions. _Is this how she feels_?

"You've got _Ruiz_ running Organized Crime?" Peter hissed. "That's unbelievable."

"We offer you that bump every year," Hughes argued. "Every year, you turn it down." That wasn't the point. He didn't _want_ Organized Crime, but he also didn't want Ruiz to have it either. Just thinking it, he felt a little childish, but that didn't make the anger subside.

Peter took a breath. "This isn't mob-on-mob," he said evenly. "The bible's the key to this thing." He was sure about it.

Reese shook his head. "All you've got is a homeless guy with a spotty memory who _thinks_ Ignazio may have enticed him into stealing the bible," he countered. "What we got here is a dead member of the Barelli family. Probably killed by the Marettis."

Peter sighed, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "Alright, fine," he allowed. "I'll stay out of the _active_ investigation. Just let me take a look on whatever's on that body."

"It's Ruiz's case," Reese said firmly. "And he's not comfortable sharing intel while Caffrey's with you."

"Oh, come on," Peter huffed in exasperation. Nora wasn't involved with any mobs. What harm was there in her knowing some details of a case Ruiz was sure was mob-on-mob?

"She's a convicted felon, Peter," Reese reminded him, as if he didn't already know that. "And Ruiz isn't the only one with reservations."

Peter found himself wanting to defend Nora, but he knew it would fall of deaf ears. To be fair, he didn't know _why_ he was so adamant about it in the first place. He was the first to admit he wouldn't trust her as far as he could throw her. If it had been his case with another agent's CI, he wasn't sure how comfortable he would be, either. He let it go.

"Alright," he sighed.

Reese clapped him on the shoulder. "You have plenty of other cases on your sheet. Let Organized Crime handle this one."

"Got it." Reese turned to go back to the crime scene. Peter set out to find his CI. True to her word, she didn't stray very far from the car. Peter found her on a bench at the end of the pier, staring out across the river. She looked a million miles away, not noticing him as he approached. Her cheeks were flushed, perhaps from the chilly breeze that blew over the river. He was glad to see her color had returned.

"Do I have to go look at the body?" Peter was surprised; he hadn't realized she'd noticed him arrive.

Peter sighed, walking slowly to the railing. He glanced out at the waves for a moment himself before turning back to her. "No. Agent Ruiz in Organized Crime is taking over the case." His voice was tight. He had told her about Ruiz before. Not much, but enough that she gathered they didn't get along.

"We're off the case?" she asked, sounding disappointed.

"We've been asked to step down," Peter corrected, returning to his seat next to her. It was splitting hairs. Even as he said the words, anger welled through him again.

She turned to look at him. He couldn't read her eyes. That made him uncomfortable. He relied a lot on being able to tell what she was feeling. Even when she was lying, putting on a mask, it helped him figure out what end she was trying to achieve. "Do you think this is a retaliation killing by the other family?"

Peter didn't respond for a moment. He realized she was trying to gauge his reaction. If he was content dropping it, she would be content dropping it. _I don't want to drop it_, Peter thought stubbornly. "I don't think Paul would've met a Maretti alone by this river," he admitted. "Not with all the bad blood in the water."

"And if Ruiz is right?" she asked.

"And a Maretti killed him?" They glanced back toward the crime scene. Police and agents still buzzed around like busy little bees. "We could be sitting on the edge of a mob war." White Collar was not equipped to handle a mob war. If that was the case, Organized Crime was right to have the investigation. But Peter had a feeling in his gut that it _wasn't _the case.

"So what do we do?" she asked. She hadn't been there long enough to see the way the different divisions worked together – or didn't, as the case often was.

"I can't do much of anything," Peter admitted. "Ruiz is not willing to share the case file."

She shifted uncomfortably. "So where does that leave us?"

"Like I said," he repeated, "_I _can't do much of anything." Peter looked at her pointedly. She considered that for a second, and her eyes lit up, the little gears churning away, probably with devious ideas. She smiled knowingly.

"You know," she said, shivering a little and wrapping her arms around herself, "I'm getting pretty chilly, by this water, aren't you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Could I borrow your jacket?" Her voice was sweet as honey. Any other jacket and it would have sounded like an innocent enough request. But a jacket with FBI printed on the back in big yellow letters was another story. She seemed to notice his hesitation. "Come on, Peter." Her big, blue eyes were wide and innocent. "Do you really think I would impersonate an FBI agent?"

He did, actually.

He gave her the jacket.


	31. Maria

Chapter Thirty-One

Maria

Nora walked casually past Paul Ignazio's apartment. It was cordoned off with police tape, a single police officer standing guard outside. She had the FBI windbreaker she'd borrowed tucked discreetly under her arm. Around back, there was another entrance, also blocked by police tape, but not guarded. _I can work with that_, she thought, pulling out her phone.

"Hey, Moz," she said as soon as he picked up the phone. "I need a favor. Can we meet?"

He sighed. "You know, you've been asking for an awful lot of favors lately," he reminded her.

"Will you help me or not?" she asked flatly.

"Of course," he relented. "What do you need?"

She thought about this for a moment. "A forensics kit," she decided. She spouted off a street corner a block from the address. "We'll talk plan when you get here," she said, hanging up the phone before he could say anything further.

She waited on a bench on the corner she'd asked Mozzie to meet her, not having to wait long before he rounded the corner, forensics kit in hand. He sat down next to her.

"Care to explain now?" he asked, handing her the kit. She motioned toward Paul's apartment. They could just make out the police officer standing outside.

"We need to get in there."

He raised an eyebrow. "What, can't the suit get in?"

"No, we're not technically supposed to be investigating the bible case anymore," she admitted. "But Peter thinks we're on to something, so he's… turning a blind eye."

Mozzie nodded. "So what's the plan?"

"Go up, pretend to be collecting some forensic evidence, and see what there is to see," she explained simply. It _was_ simple.

"And he's just going to let you in?" Nora grinned, holding up the FBI windbreaker. "Impersonating an FBI agent?" he asked, incredulous. "That's a little bold, even for you."

"Oh, _I'm_ not impersonating an FBI agent." His face fell. "It'll be easy, Moz. You get in and I'll be waiting at the back door."

He sighed, holding out his hand for the jacket. "Fine. Just know I am doing this under protest."

"Noted." He slipped into the jacket and took the forensic's kit. "See you on the other side." She didn't give him a chance to respond before she walked away, crossing the street to wait at the back door. She saw him heading toward the apartment before she was around the corner and out of sight.

She ducked down the alley behind the row of houses. Casting a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, she hopped the fence into Paul's yard. She made her way toward the door, staying low. There were curtains covering the door's window, but there was a gap big enough she could see through. She stayed pressed against the wall, glancing through the gap. She pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of her purse while she waited.

After a moment, she saw Mozzie walking across the room toward the door. He let her in. "Any problems getting in?" she asked, taking a look around the room. She wasn't sure what she expected for a mob member's home, but it wasn't what she found. It looked very normal, if a bit messy. Empty take out containers and piles of paper littered the tables. She supposed if she dug around enough, she would find all sorts of illegal goodies.

"None," Mozzie assured her. "He thinks I'm swabbing toilets. I figure we've got about ten minutes before he gets curious."

Nora grinned. "Is that the standard toilet swabbing time?" she asked.

Mozzie rolled his eyes. "Why, yes," he mocked, "that's exactly what it is."

"You know, Moz, you look very handsome in that FBI windbreaker," she teased. "Considering a career change?" Nora started looking around.

"No," Mozzie said dryly, "I prefer to keep my soul." He glanced around. "What are we looking for?"

"Paul convinced our homeless guy to steal the bible," she explained. "I want to know why, I want to know who killed him, and I want to know if they're related." Mozzie picked up a pile of mail and began flipping through it. Nora took a look at the piles of papers on the coffee table. They were notes. "He was researching something… Hundred Years war, the Crusades, illuminated manuscripts." She moved over to a bookshelf and began flipping through some of the books.

It didn't make sense. She pulled out a book that had been put on the shelf haphazardly. It was full of note scrawled in the margins. "Why is a mob guy researching medieval history?" On the back cover, there was a picture of the author, a pretty woman with an intense gaze. "Does the name Maria Fiametta mean anything to you?"

Mozzie turned to her. "Doesn't ring a bell," he admitted. He was looking at a calendar on the wall. "Who is she?"

Nora skimmed the dust jacket. "Art historian. Brooklyn State."

"Serendipity," Mozzie mused. "Paul had an appointment at Brooklyn state."

"This is good." She glanced around the room once more, biting her lip. "Maria might be our connection between Paul and the bible."

Nora pulled out her phone and dialed Peter's office phone. He answered almost immediately. "Find anything?" he asked.

"Your hunch was right," she admitted. "Ruiz is barking up the wrong tree." She could practically feel Peter's smug grin through the phone.

"And how did you learn this?" Peter asked.

"A friend," she dodged.

"The same friend who-"

She cut him off. "Yup, same one." Peter didn't answer. "He's real. I'm not making him up."

Peter laughed. "Oh, I know he's real."

Nora didn't like that tone. "How much do you know?"

"Enough," Peter said cryptically. "What'd you find?" Changing the subject. Nora shook her head. She didn't have time to worry about Peter.

"A professor who writes about the black market," she explained. "Sicilian grave robbers, Egyptian smugglers, Siberian mobsters… you can't run with those crowds unless you're willing to get dirt under your nails."

"What's his name?"

Nora grinned. "_Her_ name is Maria Fiametta." She could hear a faint scribbling on the other end of the line as Peter wrote that down.

"A woman," he said, somewhat bemused. Though, he really shouldn't have been surprised, given his current partner. "A regular Cindy-anna Jones."

Nora didn't respond. _Did he really just…_? She decided not to press it. "…You wanna go meet her?"

"Yeah, I think I do." He hung up.

Mozzie checked his phone. "I think our time is about up," he warned. Nora nodded. It was a lead they didn't have before.

"Alright, thanks, Mozzie." She returned the book to the shelf and headed for the door. "I'm going to follow up on this lead. I'll fill you in later."

"Do you want the jacket back?" She thought about this for a moment.

"Hang on to that for now. It might come in handy later." He nodded, and she left the way she came. She hopped the fence quickly and headed toward the road. It wasn't a long walk to the FBI. Peter was already waiting for her by the car.

"Where's my jacket?" he asked suspiciously.

"You'll get it back," she assured him. "Don't we have a lead to be following?"

* * *

They met Maria in her office. An assistant called her to tell her she had visitors from the FBI and left them to wait alone. Nora was scanning the room, eyes flicking over everything almost methodically. There was the sound of clacking heels on tile, and Maria appeared down the stairs.

Nora's eyes focused on her. "You two are from the FBI?" Maria asked, coming to a stop before them.

"Yes," Peter said, "we were hoping you could help us out on this one. We're working on a stolen bible." He nudged Nora lightly on the arm. "Show her." Nora handed her a picture of the bible.

"Thank you, Agent..." Maria was looking over Nora with curiosity.

"Nora," she introduced herself. "Caffrey."

Maria chuckled. "That's funny, there's a very talented manuscript forger _also_ named Nora Caffrey."

Peter groaned internally at Nora's smug expression. _Just what she needs_. "How talented?" Nora asked.

Maria paused, looking over her again as it dawned on her. "You're her," she realized, and laughed. "And you're with the FBI?"

Nora shrugged, twisting a curl around a finger. "It's sort of a… work-release."

Maria looked amused, almost excited, like a kid meeting a childhood idol. "I have to ask," she said softly, leaning in, "is it true that the Vinland Map is yours?"

Peter watched Nora closely, but her face betrayed nothing. Her expression didn't change, still amused and smug. "How could it be?" she dodged. "To my knowledge, it's legitimate. If it _is_ a forgery, then it is spectacular." She may as well have just confessed. But, she didn't, and Peter let it slide.

"How about we get back to my current problem?" he asked pointedly. "A pre-Renaissance bible stolen from a church in Brooklyn." Maria looked over the photos of the bible, taking them to a desk and getting a better look with a magnifying glass.

"It's very beautiful," she admired, "but it's not a bible."

"It's not?" Peter asked, confused.

"Pre-Renaissance, yes," she allowed, "but it's too small to be a bible."

"Then it's a book of hours," Peter guessed, surprising Maria. She seemed somewhat impressed.

"Most likely, yes," she admitted. "In the Italian style."

Peter glanced at Nora, who seemed vaguely lost. "A large prayer book," he explained. "To show their devotion, monks and nuns had to recite the songs, hymns, or chants at specific times all day long."

Nora nodded slowly. "Sunday school," she joked.

"Lots of Sundays," Peter agreed.

Maria continued. "This is a _particularly _nice example." Peter studied her. Nora had connected Paul to Maria, but her expression gave nothing away. Peter knew better than to trust looks.

"Paul Ignazio thought so too," he said pointedly.

Maria raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?" She looked somewhat surprised, smiling slightly, perhaps to cover a sense of recognition.

"You know him?" Peter prompted.

"No," she said quickly.

"We believe he stole it," Peter explained. She shifted slightly, keeping her expression smooth and guarded.

"Well, I hope you catch him." She smiled warmly.

"Can't," Peter admitted. "He's dead." She looked away, smile dropping quickly. "Looks like a mob hit, but we're still hoping to figure out who took the bible."

She returned her eyes to his. "Well, I'd love to know," she said. "It's quite beautiful."

Peter pulled a card out of my pocket and handed it to her. "Here's my card. If you hear anything, or come across someone who's looking to buy or sell something like that-"

She cut him off. "-I will call you." Her tone was clipped.

"Thank you," Peter said, walking away. He had a feeling in his stomach that she was the lead to follow. Something did not sit right about their conversation.

"It's a pleasure," Nora said, smiling warmly.

"I would love to pick your brain about medieval manuscripts some time, Ms. Caffrey," Maria said. "I don't know a lot of other women who share my interest in their history."

Peter shared a look with his CI. Nora smiled. "Sounds like fun," she said lightly. "Maybe we can do lunch some time." Peter rolled his eyes. _Do lunch_? He turned to leave, Nora following behind.

Back in the car, Peter stared at her, somewhat bemused. "What?" she asked defensively.

"Maybe we can _do lunch_ some time?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged. "It could give us an in," she insisted. "If she's involved, she's not going to talk to Agent Burke, but she _might _talk to talented manuscript forger, Nora Caffrey."

She had a point. It was a smart play. "And the Vinland Map?" he asked, curious.

"Like I said, if it is a forgery, it's very impressive," she told him, smiling innocently. _She forged the damn map_.


	32. Shell Game

Chapter Thirty-Two

Shell Game

Mozzie texted not long after they got back the Bureau. It was getting on in the day, and Peter gave her the go-ahead to cut out early. She met up with Mozzie a couple blocks away and they walked together. He had 'news' concerning the bottle.

"Was this just an exercise in Schadenfreude?" he asked, "because you win." He shook his head. "It's just a bottle, hon."

"The lab needs to reexamine it's work," she snapped.

Mozzie sighed. "The lab went over every inch of that thing," he explained. "Finger prints, chemicals, black light. Nothing. I even tested the remnants of the wine left in the bottle, which, by the way, was a very lovely boxed Franzia from early October."

Nora sighed, about ready to come back with some retort she hadn't quite thought of yet when her phone beeped. A text from Peter. 'I want to talk about the case. Stop by my place.' Mozzie read it over her shoulder. "Your FBI friend keeps you on a tight leash."

Nora looked at Mozzie pointedly. "Keep looking, Moz," she plead. "I know there's something there… There is." He didn't seem convinced, but nodded anyway.

* * *

It didn't take very long for Nora to appear on Peter's doorstep after he texted her. She smiled as he welcomed her in. He already had the case files spread out on the dining room table, and had spent the past half an hour pouring over them. He had also ordered them takeout.

She took a seat across from him and he slid a takeout container toward her. As they ate, they went over every last fact they knew about the case. It wasn't a lot. Peter huffed in frustration. "It's been bothering me all afternoon," he said as they were finishing up their meal. "She's lying about Paul and she's two degrees away from our homeless guy, but I also have trouble buying the fact that an attractive history professor offed a mobster."

"I don't know," Nora said, uncertain. "I knew plenty of attractive women in prison who did some pretty awful things."

Peter was about ready to ask how many of them were well-respected members of the academic community when Elizabeth barged in the door. She was in a huff, cell phone pressed to her ear. "No, you _don't_ want me to see the missing inventory, because if I come down there, there's going to be a lot more missing than center pieces, you got that?"

Peter rarely saw El get so worked up. Nora looked mildly amused. "Okay," he amended, "maybe it's not a complete stretch." El hung up the phone, took a breath, and put on a smile.

"Hey, you two," she greeted as if she hadn't just been ready to make someone disappear over missing center pieces a moment before.

"Hey," Nora greeted.

"Sorry," she said, somewhat sheepish. "It's just my vendor."

"No, it's fine," Peter assured her as she walked over to join them. "We were just trying to decide if a woman is capable of murder."

"Oh, I think so." There was no hesitation in her reply. Nora and Peter shared a look. "What's the issue?"

Nora was chewing on her lip again. "Alright," she said. "I think we're dealing with a shell game." She stood and began wiping out their cups from the take out with a napkin, setting up a shell game of her own.

"Visual aides," Peter mused, "nice."

She held up Peter's empty Big Gulp cup. "This is Paul, our dead mob guy," she explained. "The coffee cup is Steve, our homeless vet. Maria is the mug." She crumpled up the napkin. "Napkin's the bible."

"Make Maria the salt shaker," Peter teased.

"Maria is the mug," she said dryly. "Watch. We'll start with Paul who, for some reason, reads Maria's book and realizes that the healing bible is worth a hell of a lot of cash." She placed the Big Gulp cup – Paul – over the napkin and began shuffling the cups around. "It's also Barelli's pride and joy, and he _really_ doesn't want to risk Barelli's wrath, so he gets-"

"-Steve to steal the bible," Peter said in tandem with her as she placed the coffee cup over the napkin.

"Plausible deniability," Peter added.

Elizabeth leaned in. "But if it doesn't work, then he lets the homeless guy take the fall. Well, that's evil."

"Mm-hmm," Nora agreed, continuing with the shell game. "He takes the bible from Steve and calls Maria to make the deal. Something happens…."

"Yeah," Peter mused, standing and leaning on the back of his chair, "deal goes down wrong or Paul decides he wants both the cash and the book."

"Well," Nora continued, "whatever it is, _Paul_ ends up dead." She punctuated this by knocking over the Big Gulp, which now had no napkin under it. "The bible ends up missing-" She knocked over the coffee cup. "-and Steve never even met Maria." She sat back down.

"And our girl walks away clean with a very expensive book," Peter concluded, lifting up the mug. Instead of the napkin, a twenty dollar bill was crumpled up underneath. He looked at Nora, bemused. _I was watching the whole time and I didn't see that swap_. "Okay, how'd you do that?"

Nora grinned and offered a small, cocky shrug. El chuckled, taking a seat. "Never reveal your secrets." Peter sat too.

"The question is," Nora said, changing the subject, "how do we get Maria to reveal hers?"

"Well," he sighed, "if I stretch it, I might be able to get a warrant to get into her place."

El didn't look convinced. "You know, if she's smart, she's not going to have that bible anywhere close to her."

Nora grinned at El, nodding approvingly. Peter raised an eyebrow at his wife. "El, I've never seen this devious side."

She smirked. "Don't cross me," she warned teasingly with a small wink.

"Elizabeth's right about the bible," Nora concluded, "she won't keep it close." _You would know, wouldn't you_?

Peter thought for a moment. "I've got it," he said. "She knew who you were. Nora Caffrey, master forger."

"Alleged," she said quickly, like it was a reflex. Peter rolled his eyes.

"Alleged, whatever," Peter sighed, brushing her paranoia away. "If she's got that book, it links her to the murder. She's going to want to get rid of it. We've got all the usual channels locked down. But if she thinks you might be interested..."

Nora nodded slowly. "Convince her I'm pliable."

"We find some street contacts," Peter continued, "float it out that old Nora Caffrey's back in business."

She bit her lip, then shook her head slowly. "No, that could take time to reach her," she decided, "and there's no guarantee."

They thought in silence for a minute. _Maybe we could do lunch sometime._ He grinned. "You could have lunch with her," he reminded her. Her eyes lit up. "Go talk to her and say you have some time and wanted to talk about medieval manuscripts with her, like she suggested."

"That could work," she allowed.

"You keep her talking while we get a team to bug her place, then you convince her you're interested in the bible, and we've got her."

"Alright," she said with a smile, "guess I'm going out to lunch."


	33. Lunch Date

Chapter Thirty-Three

Lunch Date

Maria chose a somewhat upscale restaurant for their lunch, which Nora couldn't say she had much of a problem with. Nora had opted for a simple cream colored maxi dress over one of her usual FBI appropriate pants suits. It looked great, was comfortable in the New York summer heat, and had the added bonus of still covering her anklet.

The plan was simple; keep her talking. That way, Lauren and Jones had time to get into Maria's apartment and plant a bug. If Nora was great at anything, it was talking.

They ordered drinks with their lunch and Nora made a toast. "To history," she said as they clinked their glasses, "old and new."

"I have to say, I adore that dress." Maria leaned forward, looking at Nora knowingly. "How does an FBI agent afford something like that?"

Nora grinned, leaning forward as well. "An FBI agent doesn't." Maria rose an eyebrow. "Don't forget, I had a past life."

Maria chuckled, taking a sip of her wine. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

"You could say that," Nora said vaguely. "How about you? Who were you in your previous life?"

Maria thought about this for a moment. "The same person I've always been," she decided. "But with nineties hair." They shared a laugh.

"I notice a distinct lack of wedding ring," Nora observed. "No special guy in your life? I'm guessing work gets in the way?"

She raised an eyebrow. "No ring for you either," she said, avoiding the question.

Nora dropped her smile a little. "No. Prison got in the way," she admitted.

Maria considered this for a second. "So, it must be weird for you, working for the FBI."

Nora laughed and took another sip of her wine. "I don't know," she decided truthfully. "It's always interesting to read from the other team's playbook." She knew the team in the van listening to their conversation must have been having a field day.

Maria smiled knowingly. "The other team? I thought you were out of the game."

"Oh, I am," she said quickly. "Retired and rehabilitated." It probably didn't sound too convincing, but that was kind of the point.

"So have you found your missing bible?" Maria asked, changing the subject.

"Not yet," Nora admitted. She glanced over her shoulder and leaned in to whisper. "You know anybody who wants to buy one?"

"Maybe," she said slowly. "Looters approach me all the time, so do buyers. It's a very attractive offer." She might as well have just admitted she had the damn bible.

"I'll bet." Nora took another drink. "Enough about work," she said. "I thought we were going to talk about medieval manuscripts?"

"Absolutely." Between the two of them, killing an hour like Peter had told her was not a hard feat. The two ate and chatted away happily. Maria seemed impressed by Nora's knowledge of manuscripts and history in general, and seemed intrigued by her criminal insight on the subject. She was sure the surveillance team was intrigued by said insights as well. Nora was careful not to reveal her secrets.

They were finishing up their food. "Oh, I just remembered. I've been doing some research on a very interesting manuscript, and I would absolutely love your insight. Would you be interested in going to my place to take a look?"

Nora grinned. "Yeah," she agreed, "sounds like fun." She really hoped the team had planted their bug already.

* * *

There were no agents in Maria's apartment when they got there, so that was a plus. Maria threw her things down and slipped her shoes off. "Some wine?" she offered.

"Why not?" Nora agreed, setting her purse down next to Maria's. Maria wandered off to get the wine. Nora continued their conversation from the trip over. "So, there's this story about these two spies, a French Duke and an Italian Count." Nora walked around, looking around the apartment idly. "They were sworn enemies who spent the entire year trying to kill each other, but on New Year's they got to ask a question that the other had to answer truthfully."

"Yes," Maria said. "The trick was asking the right question because you might never get another chance."

Nora grinned. "I always thought honesty was the more challenging game." _Laugh it up, Peter,_ she thought.

"This wine needs to breathe," Maria said suddenly. "I'm going to get a decanter. Why don't you put some music on?" She took the wine and walked out of the room quickly. Nora looked around, eyeing her record collection.

She began sifting through them. There was a lot to chose from. "What are you in the mood for?" she called, not sure how far Maria had gone.

"Oh, whatever you like," Maria called back dismissively. Nora sighed and picked something at random. It really didn't matter. Something quiet.

She returned a couple minutes later and poured them each a glass. They chatted some more before Maria remembered an old bible of her own that she thought Nora might find interesting.

Nora looked over it. She wasn't an expert on bibles, but it was a nice piece. "Ten years carrying the same bible," she said with a small laugh. "It's like stalking God."

"If it weren't for the monks' devotion, we would have lost one of the most significant works of Greek literature forever."

"It's stunning," Nora admitted.

"I agree." She stepped close to Nora, a little too close for comfort. Nora eyed her suspiciously, but didn't step away. Maria dropped her voice low. "I don't trust you," she breathed, barely even a whisper.

"That's smart," Nora whispered back. "I wouldn't trust me either."

Maria smiled. "Let's play the spies game," she insisted. "I'll ask you a question-"

"-and I have to tell you the truth," Nora finished.

"And you have to tell me the truth," Maria confirmed.

Nora considered this for a moment. There was no way the team could hear their conversation over their bug; Nora could barely hear Maria. "Okay," she agreed. "Make it a good one."

"Which Nora Caffrey are you?" Maria asked. _That_ is_ a good one_. "Are you working for the good guys? Or are you working a bigger game?"

"That's three questions," Nora reminded her. Maria just smiled, eyeing her expectantly. Nora glanced around. It didn't take long to spot it. The vase, just slightly off-centered from the ring of dust around it. That's where the bug was. _Good job, guys._ Instead of answering, Nora walked slowly around Maria and plucked the bug out of the vase.

Maria raised an eyebrow. With a grin, Nora dropped the bug into her glass of wine. She would get hell for that later. "Does that answer your question?"

"Maybe," Maria admitted. Her lips were pressed tight together.

Nora leaned against the counter. "The feds linked the bible to Paul Ignazio and you to Paul through his visits to the college. Look, Maria, I'm living proof that if the feds want something from you, they'll turn your life inside out to get it. They'll tell Barelli you have his book."

"Even if I don't?" Maria dodged. Nora smirked, and placed Maria's hand on the bible they had just looked at. Maria couldn't help but laugh a little.

"I can get you two hundred fifty-thousand in two days," Nora told her.

"It is worth a lot more than that," she insisted.

"Not if you're in prison," Nora reminded her. "Or dead. Between the FBI and the mob, there's no way you can move it. I can."

Maria studied her for a moment, then laughed. "The other team's playbook, right?" Nora shrugged, smirking. "If I shouldn't risk it, why are you? Won't they send you back for good?"

Nora scowled, glancing down at her feet. She lifted up the hem of her dress, and the chipper green light winked up at them. "I'm already in prison," she sighed. Maria's smile fell. "Do we have a deal?"

She thought about it for a moment before smiling again. "Okay, we have a deal." They shook on it.


	34. Faith

Chapter Thirty-Four

Faith

Nora was late, and Peter was ready to give her an earful. She had texted him the details of what happened after the bug went out. He'd been too frustrated with his impulsive, infuriating CI to say much else in return other than he expected her in his office first thing in the morning. On the way up, Peter ran into Hughes and Ruiz, and they discussed the case as they rode up to the twenty-first floor.

"How did you know she was in on it?" Hughes asked, surprised, as they stepped through the double doors.

"Lucky hunch," Peter dodged. Nora was a headache, but he had told her to find some way to link Paul to the bible. He wasn't about to throw her under the bus for that.

"Hmph," Hughes sighed. "Ruiz?"

"I checked Paul's credit. He got wired ten Gs from a shell corporation in Gibraltar," he admitted. "Owned by your… uh, lady professor." Peter grinned, vindicated.

"Oh, by the way," Hughes asked, "how'd last night's fishing go? Get any tape?"

Once again, Peter found himself dodging the question. He didn't miss a beat. "Equipment failure," he explained. It was true enough. _Maybe she's rubbing off on me..._ "But Caffrey says she has the book. She'll sell, but only to her."

Hughes snorted out a humorless laugh. "Of course she'd say that. The terms?"

"Two-fifty," Peter explained. "Wired to a Swiss account."

"No way," Ruiz huffed. "What if she cuts a deal with her? She runs away with the book."

Peter hesitated. "What choice do we have?" He didn't trust her, not with that much money. But it was the only play they had. If she ran, it would be egg on his face, and he would have to track her down for the third time.

"We don't," Hughes sighed. "I don't need another dead body washing up in the East River. We'll set up a dummy account."

"That's risky," Peter said slowly. "What if she takes a shot at Nora?" As frustrating as she was, and as little as he trusted her, he didn't want to put her in front of a bullet. She wasn't an agent, after all. It was the Bureau's responsibility to keep her safe.

"I wouldn't lose any sleep over it," Ruiz laughed.

Nora's head appeared over the rail of the stairs, grinning just like she always did. "Morning, guys," she said brightly. "Everybody sleep okay?" Peter couldn't stop himself from smirking. Ruiz at least had the decency to look sheepish as he muttered an excuse to leave.

Hughes excused himself as well, retreating into his office. Peter pulled Nora into his. His anger had somewhat dissipated, but he still had an uneasy feeling in his stomach about giving her the money. _She could run with it_.

He went over what had been discussed before she arrived. She nodded, expression neutral. She fiddled with the end of her braid. An email containing the account information Hughes had an agent set up came through on his phone.

"Caymans First National," he explained, showing her the account information on his cell phone. "I'll email you the pin right before the buy." It was a necessary precaution.

Once Peter finished, she smiled. "Geez, first they're hauling me back to prison," she mused, "then tomorrow they're giving me a quarter million tax payer dollars in an offshore account. I guess that shows how much confidence they have in you."

Peter didn't smile. He stared at her evenly for a moment. "And how much I have in you," he said slowly. Her smile dropped.

* * *

It was a long, restless night for Peter. He couldn't relax, not while he knew that the next day it was entirely possible Nora would double-cross them and run off with the bible. He wouldn't have been surprised if she did, but he had to admit that it would hurt like hell. He'd put his neck out for her more than once, stood up for her when his superiors doubted her usefulness against the risk of her running.

He didn't sleep much that night, running through his doubts over and over again. It was the only play they had. They had every precaution put in place that, if she did try and run, she wouldn't be able to get very far. She hadn't shown any sign that she was planning on running.

_But that doesn't mean anything_, he reminded himself. She was a professional liar. Of course she wouldn't show any signs if she had something in the works. _If she's planning anything, I won't know until it's already too late_.

The next morning, Peter dressed slowly, dragging his feet. His stomach was in knots. He came downstairs to Elizabeth, already working on her laptop at the table. "Hey," she greeted, looking back at him over her shoulder.

"Hey," he said.

"Morning. You're up early."

"Yeah, couldn't sleep," he admitted, already gathering his things off the coffee table. "Big day."

She smiled. "I can tell. You're wearing your lucky tie." He didn't respond. "Hey, did you find the bible?" she asked enthusiastically. She'd become very invested in that case after talking to Nora and him about it.

"Yeah," he explained. "The professor had it." El grinned. "Nora's going to buy it back."

"You're giving her money," she summarized, sounding somewhat shocked. "Wow. No wonder, lucky tie."

Peter laughed a little. "No way," he admitted. "We set up a fake wire transfer."

She turned around in her chair, eyeing him quizzically. "Then what are you worried about?"

Peter sighed. "Nora has to convince her that she's working us," he explained, "which means she has to cut her anklet. For real." He paused, looking down at his tie for a moment. "The book's worth a fortune. She could run with it."

El smiled softly, standing to cross the room toward him. She began straightening his tie. "You have a lot more faith in a ratty old tie than you do in Nora."

"Yeah, well, this ratty old tie's never forged a priceless map of Vinland," he said bitterly.

She looked at him evenly. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that she'll do the right thing?" That was El, always trying to see the best in people, even those who probably didn't deserve it. In Peter's line of work, that was a dangerous mindset to have.

He sighed, trying to find the words to describe it. "Let's just say that's not her first instinct," he decided.

"And trust isn't yours," she countered.

"Occupational hazard." Trust was earned, he believed, not given. If Nora wanted him to trust her, she needed to prove that she deserved it. "I like to know I can count on something."

"I know you do," she said softly, "but sometimes you just have to make a leap of faith."

Peter sighed, looking at her for a long moment. She smiled up at him and gave him a quick kiss. After her words sank in, he spoke. "You've been waiting for a chance to make that joke since I told you about the bible, haven't you?"

She smiled. "With Nora being… who she is, I figured I'd get the chance sooner or later."


	35. The Bible

Chapter Thirty-Five

The Bible

Nora met Maria like they had agreed. The Municipal Utilities van sat across the street. The women greeted each other like old friends with a quick hug they both knew was a hasty, covert pat-down. "We have a chaperon," Nora whispered. "White van over my left shoulder." Maria had a gun, and Nora lifted the clip, slipping it carefully into her pocket.

"No bugs," Maria said cheerfully, apparently not noticing the lift. "So, where's my money?"

Nora pulled her cellphone out of her purse and held it up pointedly. "Where's my book?"

Maria lifted her car keys, unlocking the red car that was parked next to them. "You ready?" she asked with a small grin.

Nora nodded and shot a glance back over at the van. "When I cut the anklet, my friends in the van are going to know I'm running," she said somberly. "Can you lose them? Because I'm not going back in."

Maria grinned. "I've been chased by the Carabinieri, drug cartels in Bogota-"

"I get it," Nora snapped impatiently, cutting her off. "You're good." She pulled a pair of pliers out her her purse and knelt down. She'd thought a million times about cutting the anklet off and disappearing, but the thought of getting caught again and going back to prison always hung too heavy in her mind to actually follow through.

But, here she was, authorized to cut it off and run with Maria… _I could really run_, she thought. The possibility had rolled around her brain since she made the 'deal' with Maria. _I could take the bible and disappear_. Her stomach twisted in a knot just thinking about it, about the look on Peter's face when he realized she was gone.

_I guess that shows how much confidence they have in __you,_ she had said, and Peter had been quiet for a moment, face unreadable. _And how much I have in you_, had been his answer. No… she couldn't run. Not after that.

Not yet.

_Snip_. The anklet's band gave easily under the sharp pliers. It fell to the ground, it's little light blinking red in anger. She stood, nodding at Maria.

Maria grinned. "With all due respect, Nora, we could make a great team."

"With all due respect, Maria," Nora countered dryly, "shut up and drive." They got in the car and sped away.

After losing the van, they made their way to a secluded lakefront. It was a mess of garbage and debris, a couple miles outside of the city. She knew, vaguely, that there were unmarked agents on standby nearby, but until Peter got there and the teams got the go-head to move in, she was on her own.

The two got out of the car. "I can't believe I'm doing this," Maria huffed as they made their way to the trunk. Nora pulled on a pair of gloves. "I spent a long time looking for her."

"I guess it wasn't meant to be," Nora muttered. Maria popped the trunk. A black case sat inside, and she pulled it open. The bible was nestled inside, surrounded by padding to keep it safe and secure. Nora picked it up gingerly, examining it, even opening it to give it a quick sniff. "It's calfskin vellum. Abbesses Perfidia, Golden Chalice of Paul."

Maria was digging in her purse. "Satisfied?"

"Very," Nora admitted, watching her carefully. She'd lifted the clip out of her gun, but that didn't mean Maria wouldn't try something. Nora pulled out her phone, logging into the account Peter had given her the day before and putting in the PIN he had sent her that morning. "Sending… it's on its way."

Maria was watching her phone. She smiled. "And here it is. Thank you very much."

"It's a pleasure doing business with you," Nora said as Maria went to tuck her phone into her purse.

Of course, her hand returned with the gun in it. She pointed it at Nora's head. "Mm, you'll excuse me if I disagree." Nora didn't flinch. She'd expected this.

"And here I thought we were friends," Nora said dryly. _Just keep her talking until Peter gets here, _she thought. _I took the clip, she can't do much_.

Maria smiled. "You should know better than to trust women like us."

"Oh, I did," Nora told her, pulling the clip out of her pocket. "Clip. Lifted it when I patted you down."

"You forgot about the one in the chamber," Maria reminded her flatly.

Nora's stomach dropped. _Oh, you stupid bitch!_ she cursed herself. "Damn it. I've never been big on guns." _Hurry up, Peter._

"Give me the book, Nora," Maria demanded.

"Sorry," Nora said as held the book up like a shield, covering as much of her as she could, and stepped back, slowly edging around the car. Maria followed her. "If you're going to take me out, it's going to cost you a small fortune." Maria didn't respond, didn't shoot. "What's the matter," she goaded, "you can't do it? Is it because of the money, or the history?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

_Keep her talking_. "Is that why you killed Paul?"

"Paul decided he wanted the money _and_ the book!" she protested. _Gee, that sounds familiar_. Peter had to have been getting close. Any moment, the van would speed in and everything would be okay.

"Yeah, that's what happens when you get greedy," Nora spat. That was too far. The sound of the gunshot rang in Nora's ears and she fell to the ground, the air forced out of her lungs as the book slammed against her chest. _Did she hit me? Am I dying?_

Sirens blared. Tires screeched. "Drop the gun!" she heard Peter's voice yell. "Gun down, don't shoot. Gun down. Right now, put your gun down, your hands behind your head." A moment later, "Man down, man down!"

She wasn't hit, and Peter was there. She could breathe again. The bible was still clutched to her chest, a bullet lodged firmly in the cover. "Cutting it a little close there, pal," she breathed, heart still pounding in her chest. Peter pulled her to her feet.

Peter looked at the bible and laughed. The bullet looked as if it was held in the arms of the man on the cover, as if he had caught it. "Guess the big guy had your back, huh?" He seemed a little shaken himself. _Aw,_ she thought, _were you worried about me_? Peter turned to look at Lauren arresting Maria and grinning broadly as she did.

As if on cue, Mozzie, still donning Peter's FBI jacket, came up behind him silently and Nora passed the bible off. He winked and quickly walked off the way he had come while Peter was commenting on Lauren enjoying the arrest a little too much. No one paid Mozzie any attention.

Another car pulled up as Ruiz wandered over. "And now Barelli," he sighed as the man stepped out of the passenger side and made his way over to the agents.

"How did you and your cub scouts find out about this?" Peter asked dryly. "NYPD?"

"I got one of those police scanners," he said lightly, with a shrug. "It's a hobby." He looked toward Lauren, who was currently putting Maria in the back of a car to be taken in for questioning. "She's Paulie's shooter?" He seemed a bit skeptical. "Some kind of lover's quarrel?"

"Just business," Peter explained. "I hate to break it to you, but your nephew decided to free lance behind your back." Peter didn't look like he hated to break it to him that much.

"It's sad," Ruiz injected. "You know, you can't trust family, who can you trust?"

Barelli seemed impatient. "If you guys are done, I'd like my bible back. Mass starts in one hour."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Would it kill you to say thank you? Huh? Would it?" He shook his head. "Yeah, I guess it would." Nora busied herself brushing dust off her pants. He turned to her. "Alright, just give it to him, Nora."

She looked at him blankly. "What?"

"What do you mean 'what?'" he huffed. "Give him the bible."

Nora held up her empty hands innocently. "I gave it to some FBI guy."

Peter glared. "_Some_ FBI guy?" he demanded, incredulous. She shrugged, and Barelli stepped toward her threateningly, getting right up in her face. Peter let him, standing idly off to the side, still glaring at her. She didn't flinch.

"You think you can get it over on me?" he growled. "You'll wish you were never born, sweetheart."

"I've been getting this speech a lot lately," she sighed.

"Hey," Ruiz said, coming up beside them, "just shut up, Barelli."

"No way," he huffed. Ruiz gave him a hard look. "This ain't over." He stomped off and Ruiz took his place, glaring at her.

"Where is it, Caffrey? I'll let Barelli give you a ride home." He didn't have that authority, she knew, and no matter how angry Peter was, he would never allow that to happen. _I think…_

"Look, I'm telling you guys, I don't know," she insisted.

"Oh!" she heard very suddenly from behind. She spun to see Peter, smiling, his face lit up with realization. "I know where it is."

* * *

Nora smiled as she watched Steve and Lucy walk out with Barelli. Lucy was going to get treatment, courtesy of Barelli, who turned out to be a dog-lover. Peter was relieved. She didn't run, she didn't try to steal the bible. His leap of faith had ended with both feet planted firmly on the ground, rather than his pride splattered against it.

She glanced over and noticed him staring. "I was going to give it back," she insisted, "after-"

Peter cut her off. "I know," he assured her.

She seemed surprised to hear this. "How'd you know?" Peter considered this for a moment, his conversation with Elizabeth from earlier that morning ringing in his ears.

"Okay, I didn't know," he admitted, "but I took a leap of faith that you'd do the right thing."

She smiled. "Elizabeth?" she guessed. Already, she knew him too well, knew what was Peter, and what was his wife's influence.

"Yeah." They started walking toward the door. Up ahead, Barelli handed the bible to Father D'Allesio, Steve and Lucy standing in tow.

"I told you it was a healing bible," she said smugly.

Peter stopped. "Oh, here we go," he sighed in exasperation. "No way. Barelli's a softie for dogs." Even as he spoke, Barelli knelt down in front of Lucy, petting her and scratching her behind the ears.

"Oh, not enough smiting and lighting for you?" she teased.

"That's not a miracle," he insisted. He couldn't stop himself from smiling after them. Nora was staring at him, and he dropped his smile. "It's not a parting of the Red Sea."

She sighed wistfully, glancing at Steve and Lucy as they disappeared out the door. "I'll take my miracles where I can get them." Peter caught the eye of an agent who had been standing by the door. He made his way over.

"We have the honors?" Peter asked. The agent bent down in front of Nora and clicked a fresh new anklet into place around her left ankle.

She stared down in distaste. "She's back." Peter laughed, glancing around. He noticed something sitting on a pew.

"Is that my jacket?" he demanded, picking it up. It was indeed his jacket. He turned on Nora, who just grinned.

"He works in mysterious ways."

They continued toward the door. "You've been sitting on that one for days, haven't you?"

"Absolutely."


	36. Message in a Bottle

Chapter Thirty-Six

Message in a Bottle

Mozzie was adamant that the bottle was clean, that whatever Kyle had been trying to say must have meant something else. As much as she hated to admit it, Nora was beginning to think he was right. They sat half the night, staring at the bottle. Mozzie had seemingly thought of everything, tried everything, and they had nothing to show for it.

He had fallen asleep on the couch. Nora sat at the table, turning the bottle over in her hands. _What are you trying to tell me, babe?_ Had she really taught him too well? Or was the bottle really _just_ a bottle? _What am I missing_?

She sighed, sitting the bottle on the table. She'd lit a candle, and its small flame danced softly. She took a drink, still staring at the bottle. The candlelight played across the dark green glass. It looked lovely. She wished it could have been as simple as a note tied up inside before it was cast into the sea.

As she watched, a pattern began to spread across the label. For a moment, she thought she'd fallen asleep. But, no, it was real. The heat from the candle had caused a reaction. This was the message.

"Mozzie, wake up," she called, lifting it up to get a better look. He didn't respond. "Moz!" Still nothing. "Mozzie!"

He jerked awake. "Let me see your warrant!" He seemed to noticed that he was no longer dreaming whatever odd dream he'd been in. "Oh, what?"

She smiled. "Come here." He came over and she showed him the map. "Lemon juice and a candle," she said. It was so simple, yet had managed to stump them so completely.

"How did I miss this?" Mozzie chided himself.

"Weren't you ever in the scouts?" she teased. It had been something she had learned in the Girl Scouts, in a different life. She pushed that train of thought away.

"Oh, I got kicked out," he admitted. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Pinewood derby, magnets… It was a whole… _thing_." She decided not to ask.

"It's a map," she sighed.

"Of the New York City subway," he added. "What do you think it means?" She didn't answer. She was trying to think about if Kyle had ever mentioned anything of significance concerning the subway. Nothing came to mind. She didn't have any special connection to the subway either, preferring to avoid it when possible. She'd rather have walked.

"It's late," she said with a heavy sigh. "You already passed out on the couch once, and I have to be up for work in the morning." He nodded. "We'll try and figure this out later."

"Alright," he agreed, standing up to leave. He crossed to the door, pausing to look back at her. "We'll figure it out, Nora."

She nodded. "Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

Apparently, getting shot at involved a lot of extra paperwork, Nora found out the next day at work. She decided she would try not to make a habit of it in the future. The office buzzed with post-case chatter. Agents asked for her account of what had happened after cutting her anklet, and if she was being honest, she liked the attention. Even Hughes offered somewhat reluctant praise for her good work.

She finished her paperwork at last and headed up to talk to Peter. He looked it over quickly before accepting it, satisfied. "Hey, do you have any plans this evening," he asked very suddenly.

Nora raised an eyebrow, sinking down into the chair across from his desk. "Not particularly," she admitted. "Why?"

He sighed. "El wanted to know if you wanted to come over for dinner."

"That's nice of her," she said, surprised. "What's the occasion?"

Peter shrugged. "Sometimes after a big case, she likes to make a special dinner," he explained. "She thought you might like to join us. It's okay if you don't want to." She studied his face, trying to gauge if he was against the idea of her joining them. It was hard to tell. He seemed somewhat uncomfortable, but maybe that was just because Elizabeth was using him as a messenger.

"Uh… yeah, sure," she decided. "What time do you want me to come over?"

"Around six."

She stood. "Alright. I'll be there." She headed for the door. "Tell Elizabeth I said thanks." He nodded, returning back to his work.

* * *

Nora decided to dress down for dinner, just jeans and a nice top. She braided her hair over her shoulder and put a small flower clip over her ear. She decided to bring a bottle of wine. It might not have been to Peter's taste, but she figured Elizabeth would appreciate it. At very least, it would be something to _her_ _own _taste.

The cab pulled up to the Burke's house at almost six on the dot. She wondered idly if Peter had ever imagined this scenario when he had agreed to have his house excluded from her radius, her coming over for dinner as if she was a family friend rather than his criminal informant. She figured he hadn't. Did it make him uncomfortable? _Maybe I should have turned it down?_ But, Elizabeth seemed to think it was a good idea, so she pushed her misgivings aside as she rang the doorbell.

Peter opened the door. He smiled as he welcomed her inside, so whatever discomfort he had been feeling when he'd asked her if she wanted to come over seemed to have passed. He took the bottle of wine as she hung her jacket on the hook and stooped to scratch Satchmo behind the ears.

"How did you afford this?" he asked, reading the label on the wine. "You only get seven hundred a month."

"It was a gift," she assured him, though he didn't look too convinced. Before he could say anything, however, Elizabeth came out of the kitchen to greet her. "Thank you so much for the invitation."

"Oh, it's no problem," she insisted. "You're welcome for dinner any time." Nora smiled as Elizabeth led her to the table. It was already set, and the food smelled wonderful. Elizabeth sent Peter to the kitchen to grab wine glasses while they took their seats. He returned and poured them each a glass.

"If you don't mind me asking," Nora said as she helped herself to the chicken and potatoes Elizabeth had prepared, "what made you decided to invite me?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Well, this was kind of a big case for you two," she said.

"How do you figure that?" Peter asked with a laugh, saying what Nora had been about to.

Elizabeth gave him a look, as if it should have been obvious. "Remember what we talked about yesterday morning," she prompted. He nodded. She looked back at Nora. "You had to cut your anklet. You could have run. Peter had to trust you, and you had to chose to do the right thing. You did, so I would say that makes this case a pretty big one."

Nora thought about this for a moment. "Well said," she decided. "I guess you're right."

Elizabeth gave her a sly smile. "Just out of curiosity," she said, leaning in, "how tempted were you? To run?"

They both looked at her expectantly, and Nora couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, you have _no_ idea," she told them. "Thankfully, thought isn't a crime." Peter grumbled a little at this, but Elizabeth laughed. After that, it was decided that work talk should stay away from the table, and the three of them chatted idly about other things. Well, mostly Nora and Elizabeth chatted. Peter listened, injecting occasionally if the topic was something he had any interest in.

After dinner, they moved to the couch and continued their conversation. Nora found herself enjoying talking to the pair of them. For the first time, she found herself thinking that Peter and Elizabeth might actually see her as a friend rather than just a criminal, a convict only in their life to help the FBI. It was a strange thought, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

Elizabeth brought out dessert, some light cake squares that were fluffy and delicious. It was getting late by the time they finished, and Nora found her head lolling on her shoulder, eyelids growing heavy. Without realizing it, she had fallen asleep.

* * *

Peter stopped mid-sentence. He glanced over at Nora, who had grown quiet, and noticed that she had slumped back, head lolled onto her shoulder. "Nora?" She didn't respond. Peter couldn't help but laugh. "I think she fell asleep," he told El, shaking his head in disbelief.

El looked over at her. "That doesn't look very comfortable," she noted.

"She must have the uncanny ability to fall asleep anywhere," he mused. "Did I tell you she fell asleep in the car after the party we threw to lure out Ghovat last month?"

"Should we wake her up?" El asked, checking the clock. "It's getting pretty late."

Peter considered this. It _was _pretty late, and she needed to be getting home. But he wasn't sure he felt comfortable putting her in a cab with as tired as she was. He couldn't very well drive her home himself as he'd had just a little too much to drink with dinner.

He sighed. "No," he decided. "Let her sleep. I'll drive her home in the morning so she can change before work."

"Well, help me lay her down, at least," El ordered. "She'll wake up with a stiff neck if she sleeps like that." The two of them gently laid her down on the couch with a pillow under her head. El pulled off her shoes and laid a blanket over her. Nora didn't so much as stir the entire time.

"We should probably get to bed ourselves," Peter sighed. Elizabeth agreed. Before getting ready for bed, she pulled out some old sweat pants and a t-shirt from the dresser. "What are those for?"

"I'm going to sit them on the coffee table," she explained. "If she wakes up, she can change into these. They're a bit more comfortable than sleeping in jeans."

As he laid in bed, Peter wasn't sure he was comfortable with Nora sleeping in the house, what with her sticky fingers. But, she wasn't going to be so stupid as to steal from him when she knew she would be the only suspect. He sighed. _How did dinner turn into a sleepover?_ he wondered. And what would she do if she woke up and didn't realize where she was? Would she be okay that they had just left her to sleep on the couch rather than waking her up? He decided it didn't really matter, and went to sleep.

* * *

When Peter made his way downstairs the next morning, quietly, to let Satchmo out into the yard, Nora was still asleep on the couch where they had left her. At some point, she must have woken up, however, as her jeans and top had replaced the pajamas Elizabeth had left on the coffee table, and her hair was sprawled out around her on the pillow rather than in the braid she had come in.

Peter tried to be quiet as he put on the coffee, but apparently he hadn't been quiet enough. He came out of the kitchen to see a sleepy Nora shuffling toward him, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was a tangled mess. She yawned widely. "What time is it?" she mumbled.

"About six-thirty," he told her as he let Satch back in. The dog was already a bundle of energy as he bounded up to her for attention. She petted him softly, taking a seat at the table. "How'd you sleep?"

"Okay, I guess," she admitted. "I woke up around midnight, I think, and I saw the clothes on the table." She gestured down to the pajamas. "Sorry I fell asleep on you last night. You could have woke me up."

Peter shrugged. "It's no problem," he assured her. "It was late. It was just easier if you slept here." She smiled sleepily. "Want some coffee?"


	37. Smuggling

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Smuggling

Peter stared at her intently, eyes narrowed. His chin rested on his hand, two fingers pressed against his temple. Nora mirrored him, holding her head up with a fist. "What are you thinking?" Peter prompted. Nora blinked, eyes flashing up to meet his.

"I'm thinking it was the accountant," she offered. "In the law office."

"With the illegal wire transfer," Peter concluded. That had been his hunch too.

She shrugged. "Either that or Miss Scarlet in the library," she joked.

"We can pull prints on the candlestick," Peter decided, sitting up. "Let's grab his company's records from last year. They're on file." She didn't move. Peter looked at her expectantly.

She sat up. "You want _me_ to do it?" she realized. He nodded once.

"We have clerks for that." _Always such a child_, Peter thought.

"I've got something better," he told her. "I've got you." To an outsider, that might have sounded like a compliment, but they both knew it wasn't. She just glared at him as she stood.

"Fine." He smirked as she left, scowling. He returned to his files while he waited; it was going to take a while. When Nora didn't want to do something, she had a habit of dragging her feet. Peter tried not to let it show that it bothered him or else she would think she had won.

As he waited, he saw Jones rush up the stairs. "Uh, Peter?"

"Yeah?"

Jones shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, your wife's here," he said. Peter glanced at the bullpen. Why would El be coming to see him? "She's not alone." She had another, familiar woman with her. She had the woman sit down before she headed toward his office.

"She look upset to you?" Peter asked quietly.

"Eh, they look – they both look upset," he admitted. Peter stood, and both men made their way to the door. "You know, buddy of mine, he always kept a separate cell phone. One for the wife, one for the girlfriend." Peter glared at him. "What? It helps avoid this kind of crossover."

"That's not my girlfriend, okay?" he huffed under his breath. "I- I don't _have_ a girlfriend. That's El's friend, Dana. They've known each other since high school." El reached the top of the stairs. "Hi, honey."

"We need to talk," she said firmly.

"Kay," Peter agreed with a nod. He turned to Jones. "Thanks, Jones, that'll be all." Clinton nodded knowingly and walked away. Peter closed the door as El stepped in. "Have a seat, honey." Peter sat down, but stood when he realized El wasn't sitting. "Why's Dana here? Is she okay?"

"No, actually, it's about her husband, John."

"Hot wings guy," Peter added, vaguely remembering John. El looked at him, confused. "Remember, he made those hot wings at the barbecue, the Cooper barbecue a while back?"

El sighed impatiently. "Right. Him."

"I thought he was stationed overseas," Peter recalled.

"He finished his tour _last_ month," she snapped, as if he should have known that. Maybe he should have.

"What's the problem?" Peter wasn't sure what would bring Dana to the FBI about her husband. From what Peter remembered of him, he was a nice enough guy, if somewhat quiet and reserved.

"Well, this morning, the FBI issued a warrant for his arrest," she explained. Peter glanced down at Dana sitting in the bullpen and sighed. He sat down, pulling up the warrant database on his computer.

"Alright, what's the last name."

"Mitchell."

"Mitchell," Peter muttered as he typed. "What happened?"

"Some stolen gold or something in a storage shed," she said. "They think he brought it over. Dana came to me for help. She has no idea why he's a suspect."

Peter froze as the details of the case came up. "I think I do," he admitted, reading over the file quickly.

"Well, what is it?"

"It's gold artifacts from Iraq," he read. "The guy's prints all over over the place. Hair evidence..." He looked up at her. "El, this doesn't look good."

El looked like she was about to say something, but the door opened suddenly. "I found that file!" Nora announced proudly, but her face fell when she saw Elizabeth and the looks on their faces. "… This can wait." She turned to leave.

"No!" El snapped, and she froze. "Nora, come in." She did as she was told, sheepish, and closed the door behind her. El sat down and Nora hesitantly took the chair beside her. "Now, Nora, just because someone's accused of doing something, that doesn't mean that person is guilty, right?"

Nora's eyes were wide as she considered this for a second. "Define guilty," she said slowly.

Peter rolled his eyes. "You really think she's the best person to ask?" he asked dryly.

El ignored him. "Nora?"

"I suppose it's possible," she allowed.

El looked pointedly at Peter. "See, that's what I thought." Peter rubbed his chin, taking a deep breath, but let it go. He looked back at the warrant.

"This says whereabouts unknown," he realized. "Is he on the run?"

El shifted uncomfortably for a moment before answering. "He's at his brother's," she sighed. "I don't know the address."

Peter stared at her, incredulous. "If you're keeping that information, that's aiding and abetting," he scolded.

Nora seemed very uncomfortably with the tension in the room. "You know, I think I grabbed the wrong file," she said, moving to stand. "I'm gonna go grab the right one."

"No, stay," Peter ordered, and she sunk back into her chair. She looked like she would have rather been just about anywhere else. "My turn. If we have your prints and hair on the scene and you're on the run, are you guilty?"

"Oh, now she's the best person to ask?" El demanded, crossing her arms. Peter didn't respond, just looked at Nora expectantly.

She thought about this for a moment, shifting in her chair. "Honestly," she sighed, turning to Elizabeth, "I think your friend should turn himself in." Peter was somewhat surprised. Nora didn't usually favor the side of the law in their hypothetical conversations about criminals and guilt, yet here she was, recommending someone turn themselves in?

"I completely agree with you," El said. "That's why I told Dana to tell him what to do. Turn himself in." Peter was now very confused. Why had she been arguing with him if she agreed with him?

"So, he is turning himself in?" he asked to confirm.

"Yes," she confirmed. "He's going to turn himself in to you." Peter's stomach sank.

* * *

They watched as a car pulled up in front of the Bureau. Half a dozen agents stood, waiting just in case something happened. Peter stood rigid next to Nora as she read over the case file Peter had given her.

John opened the door and Dana walked forward to greet him. He was wearing his military uniform. Dana stopped next to Peter, offering a weak, sad smile. "Peter, thank you," she said softly before turning back toward her husband.

"God, do I feel guilty," Peter sighed as he watched. He glanced over at Nora. "You think he did it?"

Nora was engrossed in the file. "Artifacts from the royal cemetery crypts of Ur in Egypt, thousand year old gold." She sighed almost wistfully. "Lot of money's always a lot of motive." Her brow furrowed as she continued reading. "That's a shame. Apparently he melted some of it down." She glanced at Peter, but he didn't really seem to care what John did with the gold.

He stepped toward the couple. John kissed his wife, whispering softly to her. He stopped to give El a quick hug before he turned to Peter. "John," Peter said, voice thick.

"Peter," he returned. "I want you to know, I didn't do this. I was set up." Nora watched the man carefully. If he was lying, he was very convincing.

Peter sighed. "Your prints were all over the gold, John."

"My prints?" he asked. Nora bit her lip. _That's certainly news to him_.

Peter hesitated for a moment. "We gotta go," Peter finally said.

"Listen," John insisted, "please. Look, my lawyer said I shouldn't say a word." Peter looked like he wanted to say something, but John kept speaking as if he was in a rush to get to words all out. "When I was overseas, a guy asked me to help him bring some goods back to the States. I said no."

"John..." Peter sighed.

"His name's Aimes. Patrick Aimes, he's in the State Department. Just look into him," John plead. "Please." Something about his face, about his tone seemed sincere to Nora. She had a hard time believing he was such a good liar.

"I will," Peter assured him. The handcuffs made a soft _click_ as Peter put them on John. Even though she wasn't the one getting cuffed, Nora's heart skipped for a second. John was holding up incredibly well. She knew from experience that getting arrested was somewhat nerve-wracking.

_ Especially if he's as innocent as he says. _She glanced down at his hands. They were remarkably spotless for someone who was dabbling in melting down precious metal.

Nora followed Peter as he led John inside. As they walked another agent read John his rights. Nora's mind churned as they went. Something wasn't adding up. Peter went with John to interrogation, sending Nora back to the office.

She sat impatiently while she waited for him to return. She was beginning to think Elizabeth might have been right when she insisted that John was innocent.

When Peter stepped off the elevator some time later, face buried in a case file, Nora dropped what she was doing and met him. "Peter," she said, wasting no time getting to the point, "that was genuine surprise on John's face when you told him his prints were on the gold."

She was expecting him to argue. "I noticed that," he sighed. An agent stopped him to sign something. "But that doesn't get him off the hook."

"There's something else," she said slowly.

Peter turned. His shoulders were slumped. The whole situation had soured his mood. "What?" he asked flatly.

She hesitated. "Before I say anything, what's the statute of limitations-?"

"Just tell me," he snapped, turning to walk up toward his office.

She followed quickly and spoke quietly, not wanting to be overheard. "See, melting down precious metals is kind of tricky," she explained. "No matter how careful you are, you're going to get splash blisters on your arms." Something else she knew from experience.

Peter ignored what was practically a confession to having melted down precious metals in the past. "Well, Mitchell may be burn-free, but that doesn't make him innocent."

"Maybe we should check out this Aimes guy," she offered.

"Already did," Peter said, handing her the file he had been reading. They stepped into his office as she glanced over it. "He was working for the State Department, overseeing reconstruction in Mosul a few months back." Peter put on his jacket.

"Where is he now?"

"Working for a private security contractor right here in New York."

Nora flipped the file closed and handed it back. "Sounds like he's done well for himself."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "I'm going to go see how well."


	38. Framed

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Framed

Peter had come back from his meeting with Aimes with a new determination. Apparently his bodyguard's arms had been covered in blisters, those Nora had noticed were absent from John's arms. He locked himself in his office for the rest of the day, pouring over the seized artifacts.

Nora went over the details of the case with a fine-tooth comb, but came up with nothing they didn't already know. The next day, she started fresh, looking through the list of seized artifacts, doing a bit of research on them. It wasn't very helpful, she realized very quickly. She decided to step out for a lunch break alone.

She sat in a cafe, sipping her latte and looking over a map of New York's subway system she had bought a few days prior, when Peter texted her. 'Think I've got something. Meeting in the conference room in 10.' He had something, then. He wouldn't have bothered calling a meeting otherwise.

Walking into the conference room, she noticed the tables were covered with the stolen artifacts. Lauren and Jones were examining the pieces. "Where's Peter?" Nora asked, coming around the table next to Lauren. "I thought he called this meeting."

"He's been pouring over this stuff with the evidence recovery team since he saw splash blisters on Aimes' bodyguard," Jones explained.

"Said something about a breakthrough," Lauren added. Nora picked up one of the pieces to take a better look. Lauren snatched it away and sat it out of her reach, giving her a hard look.

"I'm looking for clues," Nora said defensively, picking up another piece.

"You're looking for your next jail sentence," she snapped, plucking the second piece out of her hand, "oh my God." She offered Nora a pair of rubber gloves. Nora rolled her eyes, but took them.

"Didn't you just join this unit?" Nora asked dryly as she pulled the gloves on with a _snap_.

"Yeah," she agreed, "and I didn't even have to go to prison first." Jones snickered, clearly enjoying the show.

"So," he said, pulling them back to the case, "if you were going to frame somebody, how would you do it?"

"Oh, I've never framed anybody," Nora said quickly. "I've only been framed."

"Yeah?" Lauren asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "What for?" Nora didn't miss a beat, remembering a conversation they had had earlier in the day.

"Counterfeiting stock certificates and about a dozen other confidence schemes, frauds, and forgeries," she quoted. Lauren smirked, and looked like she might have had something to say, but Peter walked in. Nora turned her attention to him. "I heard you had a breakthrough."

"I got something," he confirmed. "Notice the prints." They each looked at the piece nearest them. The fingerprint dust was still visible, leaving clean, crisp prints for all to see. Prints that apparently matched John's fingers.

"They're very clean," Jones noted.

Peter nodded. "Maybe a little too clean."

"They're all John's?" Nora asked, though she knew that if the answer had been no, there would have been another suspect besides just John.

"Yep. Notice anything else?" They were fingerprints. What else was there to notice? She looked closely, trying to see what he had seen. Nora picked up a second piece, then a third.

"They're all left-handed," she realized.

"Uh-huh."

She looked up at Peter. That didn't makes sense. Even if John was a leftie, there was no way he only touched everything with his left hand. "That's improbable," she mused.

"It's impossible," Peter corrected. He seemed excited. He was now fully convinced that John was innocent, she realized.

"What does it mean?" Lauren asked, confused.

Peter hesitated. "I don't know," he admitted. Everyone was silent. They continued looking over the artifacts, but nothing jumped out. They spent the rest of the afternoon trying to find any evidence that suggested John might have been set up, but without another lead, they hit a wall.

Peter sighed in frustration. "It's about time to go home," he noted, checking his watch. He didn't seem too thrilled with the idea, Nora noticed, but decided not to ask. She started gathering up her things. "You wanna go get dinner with me?" he offered suddenly.

Nora raised an eyebrow. While they often got lunch together during the day, Peter usually went home and had dinner with Elizabeth. "Sure," she agreed, wondering what was going on in the Burke house that he was reluctant to go home to. She figured, if he wanted to talk about it, he would.

"Great." He picked some casual restaurant and turned the car radio on to some game Nora didn't really care about. When Peter turned on the radio in the car, he usually didn't want to talk, so she left him alone.

At the restaurant, they got a table outside. The day had been warm, and the early summer evening was pleasant. The waitress took their orders, coming back a moment later with a bottle of beer for each of them. As he finished his, she would bring him more. Nora sipped on her one. Beer wasn't much to her taste.

The food was decent, and they finished it quickly. Peter got another order of fries, and they continued talking while he munched on them. Peter brought up the case, asking if she thought it was suspicious that the prints were all left-handed.

"Of course," she agreed. "Do you think the prints were planted?"

Peter shrugged, taking a drink of his beer. "Well, it wouldn't be hard, would it?"

"Don't look at me," she dodged. Peter did look at her, pointedly. She sighed. "Alright, no, it wouldn't be that hard." She thought about it for a moment. "It starts with getting a clean set of prints, and somebody got John's." She hadn't been lying when she said she'd never framed anybody, but that didn't mean she didn't know _how_.

"But only his left hand," Peter mused. "Why only the left?" He took another drink. Something tugged in her mind.

"How was the gold found in the first place?" she asked.

"Anonymous tip," Peter explained, taking another drink.

"Red flag," she joked.

"Mmm," he agreed, his mouth full with fries. He swallowed. "Could be." He washed the fries down with a large swig.

"Easy there, tiger," she teased, laughing. "Shouldn't you be getting home to Elizabeth?"

He sighed, looking uncomfortable. "Dana's been staying with us," he explained.

That explained a lot. "Ah," she said knowingly. "How's that going?"

"She's been through a lot," Peter dodged.

"Oh, yeah," Nora agreed. "This has got to be rough on her." She remembered how Kyle had been when he visited her after she first got arrested. It wasn't easy watching the person you love getting locked up.

"Yeah, it is." Nora raised an eyebrow. He was going in circles, avoiding getting to the point.

"It's got to be," she agreed, prodding him to get to it already.

Peter huffed. "Look, I try to be a good person."

Nora stifled a laugh. "You certainly have your moments," she conceded.

"It's just… I don't-"

"Is it the crying?" she guessed. Peter did not deal well with emotions. He got awkward and uncomfortable any time Nora seemed to get emotional or upset, trying hard to be supportive but not really knowing how.

"Yes," he admitted with a heavy sigh. "I can handle everything else but women crying." She raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what to do with it. I try to fix it, but…" She put her hand to her mouth, failing at not laughing. "Oh, you think this is funny?"

"Kind of, actually. I'll try to remember not to cry around you." He rolled his eyes. "Maybe try giving her some good news," she suggested. "We got the print theory, that might cheer her up."

"Yeah, it could be something," he agreed, "if I could link it to Aimes or the bodyguard." He took another drink, and she stared at his hand. _That's it…_ "What?" He'd noticed her staring.

"We've been here an hour, but in that whole time, you've only touched these bottles with your right hand." He looked down at the bottle in his hand, as if he was stunned by the revelation.

"Mitchell had drinks with whoever lifted the prints," Peter realized.

"Can you ask him?"

Peter shook his head slowly. "Marshals are sitting on him," he sighed. "I could take the time to reach out, file the proper paperwork, go through the usual channels tomorrow, or I could-"

"Or you could just ask his wife," Nora concluded.

"Ask his wife right now," Peter echoed. He stood, pulling out his wallet to cover the bill.


	39. Studio Access

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Studio Access

The next morning, Peter recapped Elizabeth's talk with Dana from the night before, that John had went out for drinks with a reporter and how his Yankee's cap had gone missing that night. Nora considered this. "Well, that would explain the hair fibers," she mused.

"Yeah," Peter agreed.

Nora turned to him. "You had Elizabeth talk to her?"

He shrugged. "I thought some female intuition would be helpful," he explained.

Nora smirked. "Dana started crying, didn't she?"

"I didn't even do anything," he insisted. "I have no idea what went wrong." _Hopeless, as always_, she thought.

Nora decided to change the subject, rather than tease him. "So, who's this other woman?" Peter was ready for that question. He had a file all ready to go, and tossed it to her as he explained.

"This is Alicia Teagen, segment producer. She was a reporter embedded with Mitchell's unit." Peter leaned back, opening his own copy of the file while Nora skimmed hers. "Alright, so she invites Mitchell out for a beer. Let's say she takes that opportunity to lift the prints off the bottle. She grabs the baseball hat as an added bonus."

"Yeah, toss in a little DNA evidence to really lock the case," Nora mused.

"Right." Peter sighed. "Now, how do we connect her to Aimes?"

"Do they know each other?"

Peter shook his head. "Other than the fact that they were in Iraq, there's nothing." Nora bit her lip, thinking hard. "If Aimes stole the gold, he isn't going to ship it himself. He's going to get someone else so that his hands stay clean in case they get intercepted."

Nora thought about this. "Well, press credentials aren't a bad way to get by customs," she added.

Peter nodded, flipping his file closed and tossing it back on the table. "Let's go talk to her," he decided. The car ride to the news building wasn't long, but Peter was filling the silence talking about sports. After he realized that her knowledge of them was severely limited, he felt the need to explain anything and everything he could.

Nora tried to tune him out, but he kept attempting to draw her back into the conversation, perhaps oblivious to her complete lack of interest. Not that she had a problem with sports, they just didn't really hold her interest.

"I know," he sighed, "but the Cardinals are a baseball team." They rounded a corner and came to a stop outside a security point. Only station personnel were permitted beyond that point, apparently. "Wait here. I'll check in."

Nora was glad the conversation was over. She took a seat next on a bench next to a professionally dressed woman while Peter went to talk to the security guard. The woman smiled politely at her.

"First day on the job?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, no," Nora admitted, "just visiting. But, I'm curious; what's it like to be on camera."

The woman laughed a little. "Oh, I'm not on camera. I'm a publicist, actually."

"Interesting," Nora mused, nodding slowly. "What's it like up there?"

The woman leaned in a little. "Cutthroat," she said very seriously. Her phone buzzed and she checked it quickly and sighed. "Looks like they just moved my meeting to twelve-thirty. Excuse me." The woman stood, and Nora's own phone buzzed.

It was Peter. Confused, she answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey." Nora glanced around. He was nowhere to be seen. "Where are you?"

"Upstairs," he explained, "on my way to see Alicia."

"You left me in the lobby?" Nora asked, offended.

"You sound like a child," he scolded. "Look, Alicia's on her way in. I want you to watch how she reacts when the guard tells her there's an FBI agent waiting for her." The line went dead before Nora could protest. She sunk back against the bench, scowling at nothing.

Nora recognized Alicia from the photo in the file Peter had shown her earlier. Nora leaned forward, watching her. "Hi, Phil," she greeted brightly.

"Morning," he said. "Miss Teagan, there's an FBI agent here to see you."

She froze. "Sorry?"

"An FBI agent," he repeated. "Said his name was Burke." Alicia shifted, glancing over her shoulder nervously.

"Just tell him today's not a good day," she said quietly.

"Oh, he's already upstairs," Phil explained.

"Did he say what he wanted?" she asked. Nora couldn't quiet see her face, but her stance suggested she was _not happy_ about a fed coming to see her.

Phil shrugged. "All he said was to let you know he's here."

She sucked in a breath. "Oh. Thanks." Nora watched her walk in. Several more people walked in after her. An idea tugged in her brain and Nora decided it was time for a coffee run.

Ten minutes later, she returned to the entrance balancing a somewhat precarious tower of coffee in front of her. "Hey, Phil," she greeted casually.

"Morning," he greeted. If he was concerned about not recognizing her, he didn't show it. She stopped suddenly in front of the gate, hissing out a sigh.

"I ran out of hands," she said somberly. "My card's in my pocket." She wiggled her hips toward him. "If you just wanna grab that there. Just get that for me?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, don't worry about it, hon," he said.

She smiled around her burden. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he assured her. "It's no problem."

"Thank, Phil, you're the best." He buzzed her in. Phil was a sweetheart. And very predictable. It was easier to just let her in right then, than risk her making a stink about him touching her butt later.

Nora scoped the place out as she walked, getting a feel for the layout. She walked like she knew where she was going, coffee still in hand. She spotted Alicia and followed her from a distance. A moment later, her phone chirped. Peter, she assumed, spotting him looking down at her from upstairs. He didn't look happy. She didn't answer the phone; she'd get hell for that later, she was sure.

She followed Alicia to the set where they filmed. People bustled around, setting up for the next news broadcast. She lingered behind, moving to keep behind Alicia as she passed out of sight.

"Hi," a friendly voice greeted from behind. Two news anchors looked over her with curiosity, and thankfully not suspicion. "I don't think I've seen you around before."

Nora put on a charming smile. "Oh, I'm Gwen," she lied. "The new sports anchor." She cursed herself silently. Sports? _Damn Peter and his incessant baseball babbling._

"New sports anchor?" the woman mused, still not looking suspicious, but perhaps not completely convinced either.

Nora moved behind their desk. "New girl brings the coffee, right?" Whatever misgivings they had, the lure of free coffee pushed them away. They thanked her, smirking among themselves. "Hey, no problem," she assured them.

The woman leaned in close. "But what about Leonard?" she asked softly, pointing to a middle aged man standing a few feet away.

"Oh, you didn't hear," Nora whispered back. "Yeah. That's… That's why the meeting got moved to twelve-thirty." The woman looked as if that made perfect sense. Nora started to walk away as they began to chatter to themselves. She turned back and quickly added, "Don't say anything to Leonard." They nodded. As she passed Leonard, she patted him on the shoulder. "You have a great day, Leonard."

"Thanks," he muttered, bemused, as she continued after Alicia. Nora caught up with her as she made her way to her desk. Taking a seat and pretending to busy herself on her phone, Nora watched. Alicia dug frantically in her wallet, casting nervous glances over her shoulder. She didn't notice Nora watching.

She pulled out a key and a slip of paper. Whatever was on the paper, it must have been important; she locked it in the top drawer of the desk. _Whatever that is, she doesn't want to take the chance that Peter might see it_, Nora guessed.

Alicia started to walk away, and was intercepted by Peter, who either didn't see Nora or was ignoring her. He led her away, and they took a seat at a table on the other side of a glass wall. Alicia's back was to Nora. She wondered idly if Peter did that on purpose.

Nora stood. _Okay, Miss Teagan_, she thought, _let's see what you're hiding_. Nora walked casually to Alicia's desk, taking a seat. She snatched up a pen and a notepad as someone passed, giving her a strange look. Nora smiled. "Just borrowing a pen," she lied. They didn't seem to care, shrugged, and kept walking.

On Alicia's desk, Nora found a paperclip. Perhaps not the best tool, but it was serviceable. With one hand, she jotted down a note; with the other, she worked on the lock. She could feel Peter's gaze on her as she picked it, but chose to ignore it. Thankfully, desk locks were incredibly basic. The lock gave quickly under the paperclip.

She rummaged quickly through the desk, finding the slip of paper hastily tucked under some folders. She plucked it out, tucking it in her pocket carefully, and closed the door. _I need a copier. _She saw Peter stand, moving strangely to get a view of her as she passed. She just smiled.

She found the copy machine easily enough and put the paper under the lid. She fiddled with the buttons for a moment, pretending to struggle with it. A woman passed. "Excuse me." The woman stopped. "I can't seem to get the code to work," she lied with a sheepish smile.

The woman smiled with understanding. "Here, use mine," she offered, coming over and typing it in quickly.

"Thank you." The woman smiled and continued on her way as the copy machine began to hum. Before too long, it spat out a copy of the paper. Nora moved back to Alicia's desk. She saw the woman stand up, begin to turn as Nora sat down. She turned again; Peter was stalling. Nora smiled at him as she tucked the original paper back exactly where she found it.


	40. Haversham

Chapter Forty

Haversham

As expected, Peter was very _not_ happy when he met up with Nora outside the studio. She tried a smile, but his glare cut her off. "What was that about?" he demanded as they started walking. They had parked a couple blocks away. "You had me off my game."

Nora was silently relieved that he was mad about that, rather than the fact that he witnessed at least one criminal act. "You told me to watch her reaction," she reminded him, "that's what I did."

"No, what you did was breaking and entering."

"Phil let me in," she insisted. Sure, she might have used false pretenses to get Phil to let her in, but she decided she would leave that little bit out.

"Who's Phil?"

"The guy at the door who-"

"Ah" Peter huffed, cutting her off, holding up a hand to get her to stop. He was jumping through mental hoops to pretend she hadn't just broken several laws. _Progress, I suppose_.

"Okay, you wanna know what I found," she offered.

"No," he snapped.

Nora ignored him. "She got rattled when she heard FBI," Nora explained. "She went to her desk and locked something in the top drawer."

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, God."

"I didn't steal it," she assured him. He came to a stop, not looking very reassured. Nora pulled it out of her pocket. "I photocopied it." She handed it over, but he didn't look at it. "It's a pawnshop ticket. Bet I know what she was pawning."

Peter crumpled the paper up in his fist. "No," he huffed. "I didn't see this._ You_ didn't see this." He walked off.

"But I did see it," she called after him. He ignored her. "I guess I'm walking, then." She sighed. And pulled out a second copy of the pawn ticket, along with her phone.

Mozzie answered on the first ring. "Hello?" he greeted in a sing-song tone.

Nora held the phone with her shoulder as she unfolded the paper. "Hey, Moz, I got a favor to ask you."

"What's up?"

"I need you to check out a pawnshop ticket for me." He agreed, sounding intrigued. She read off the information. "Meet back at my place when you've got something, okay?" She hung up and headed home.

Since she acquired some extra free time, she resumed her research on the bottle's map. It felt like she had looked at dozens of maps, trying to find the answer. Her eyes were beginning to grow itchy with strain as she scanned through an old book of maps, one of which was the New York subway system. Nothing jumped out.

It was already dark outside, the last light of day long since gone. Nora sighed and idly thumbed through the pages. A few pages later, there was a map that looked like something out of a pirate movie, like a map a group of treasure hunters might use to find their buried plunder. X marks the spot…

_X marks the spot._ She looked at the bottle. One of the station lines sat directly in the middle of the X in Bordeaux. It was so obvious, almost cliché. "X marks the spot," she sighed. "Kyle loves the classics."

Nora scooped up her phone and quickly dialed Mozzie. "Moz, it's me," she said as soon as he picked up.

"Yeah."

"You nearby?"

"Did your suit put a tail on me?" he asked suspiciously.

Nora's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? No," she hissed, not having time for his paranoia. "Look, I figured out the map. It's a Bordeaux label. Bordeaux, with an X. X marks the spot."

He was silent for a moment, processing that. "Ah. You know, Kyle loves the classics."

"Yeah, he does," she sighed with a grin. Their clue, at long last.

"I found a bit of treasure myself, too," Mozzie said, cutting through her thoughts. "On my way to show you."

"Hurry up."

"I walk at a delicate pace," Mozzie huffed. Nora rolled her eyes and hung up the phone. She continued to stare at the bottle, wondering what treasure the little X was pointing to.

Almost immediately, there was a knock on the door. "That was fast," Nora mused as she stood to let him in. He knocked again, more insistently. "Yup, coming," she called as she tucked the bottle back on the shelf. She pulled the door open. "Hey, Mo-" The words died in her throat.

It wasn't Mozzie on the other side of the door. It was Peter. She fumbled for just a second before she caught herself. "-my man," she finished brightly, cursing herself. It sounded ridiculous. Peter grinned. He was carrying a bottle of wine and two six-packs of beer.

"Expecting somebody?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not at all," she lied.

"Good." He started pushing past her.

She held back a sigh. "Yeah, come… right on in." She glanced down the hall. Mozzie hadn't arrived yet, thankfully. She tried to think of how she could text him to warn him not to come. It was pretty obvious that Peter hadn't believed her, though he let it go easily. He would notice if she sent a text or excused himself the second he got there.

He pressed the wine bottle into her hands and stood for a moment, taking in the apartment. "Wow, unbelievable," he sighed. It had been a while since he had been inside, and it was furnished with more of Nora's touches than it had been before. "Last time we had a drink, we made a breakthrough." He moved to put his beer in the fridge. "Hoping tonight we can solve the whole damn case."

"Awfully ambitious of you," Nora teased as she moved to pull out a wine glass. Peter made himself comfortable at the table. She poured herself a drink, knowing she was going to need it. "So, Dana's still at the house?"

"Yep." He cracked his beer and held it up toward her. "Here's to freeing Captain John Mitchell," he toasted. "So I can go back home."

Nora sighed. "I'll drink to that," she muttered, taking a drink. There was a knock on the door. _Mozzie_. "I'll get that," she said quickly, standing. "It's probably June."

She opened the door and made a cutting motion across her throat, hoping to cut Mozzie off and send him away. He didn't seem to notice. "Photocopy of a pawn ticket," he announced, pulling something from his pocket, "but I got this coin." Nora gave him the most withering look. "What?"

"Sorry, Mr. Haversham," Nora said loudly, knowing there was no way in hell Peter _hadn't _heard Mozzie. "June isn't here at the moment." Mozzie glanced in and saw Peter.

Playing on Nora's setup, "Oh, well," he fumbled, stuffing the coin back in his pocket, "uh… too bad. Uh… tell her I look forward to our next round of drinks and… Parcheesi."

"Yup," Nora agreed and Mozzie turned to retreat.

"Hang on a second," Peter called, turning in his chair. Nora sighed internally. _Welp, it was worth a shot. _He stood and walked toward the door.

Mozzie froze. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, "apparently I'm interrupting something."

"Yeah," Nora agreed.

"Who are you?" Peter asked. It was almost a friendly question, not an accusatory one. He was still playing along.

"I'm the neighbor," Mozzie lied. "Dan...te. Haversham. Dante Haversham."

Peter nodded slowly. "And you're dating June?"

"Uh..." Mozzie glanced back and forth between them quickly, shifting uncomfortably. "Courting," he amended. "Courting." Nora smiled through the pain, nodding slowly. Peter didn't look convinced. "Yeah, what can I say? She likes a little, uh, cream in her coffee."

Nora had no choice but to watch the train wreck in silent disbelief. Mozzie was great when he had time to plan, or was going into a situation with some preparation. But put the man on the spot, and he panicked.

Peter turned to Nora, eyebrow raised. "You really want to keep this up?"

"No, I don't," she admitted flatly. She glared at Mozzie while she spoke. "You're right. This is-"

"No, I know," Peter sighed, cutting her off. Mozzie was still smiling uncomfortably. "How about I just call you Mr. Haversham?" Peter offered. Mozzie nodded slightly. "Come on in."

As Mozzie walked by slowly, Peter added, "Thought you'd be taller."

"Me too," Mozzie admitted, somewhat glumly.

"Well, you're here," Peter said, "have a drink." Peter clapped him on the back, and moved to get Mozzie a drink. Nora shook her head insistently behind Peter's back. Mozzie was just a little too open if he drank enough.

"Oh, no," Mozzie insisted, "I don't drink."

"Well," Peter said, already looking in the fridge, "you do tonight."

Mozzie considered this for a moment as Nora gave him a hard look. "Gin's good," he decided, walking off to join Peter as Nora stared after him in disbelief.

Nora sat silently as they talked and drank, trying not to glare at the both of them. The more they drank, the more they talked and laughed. Eventually, the conversation turned to Nora. "I don't get it," Peter laughed as he opened yet another beer. "Guy leaves nothing but an empty bottle behind."

"Least he could do is leave a full one," Mozzie joked, and the two men laughed even harder.

"Guys, I'm right here," she reminded them, indignant. _Glad my sadness amuses you_.

Peter held up a hand. "Fair enough," he allowed, "fair enough." His gaze fell out the window, to the beautiful New York City skyline. "Man, look at that view. Is this why you guys do it? Is this what it's all about?"

"It's not about the _stuff_," Mozzie told him. Nora looked at him, incredulous. He caught her eye, and she shook her head, warning him to stop talking. He ignored her. "It's about doing what we want to do. Who cares about nine-to-fives and 401ks? Playing by the rules only makes borders that just take away everything that's good about living life." That was actually pretty deep, and in more pleasant circumstances, Nora might have agreed.

"Moz, Moz," she said softly, reaching over to pat his forearm. "You lived in a storage unit."

He waved her away. "Yeah, but I _lived _there. I _lived_." Despite herself, Nora grinned as she shared a look with Peter. As infuriating as he could be sometimes, there was never a dull moment with Mozzie. "Long as I don't have to live under anyone else's time or dime, I'm a free man. I can do whatever I want."

"Like going to the pawnshop and getting that coin you have in your pocket?" Peter asked. Mozzie blanched. Nora had been waiting Peter to strike. She could see him stringing Mozzie along, waiting for his opportunity to steer the conversation back to where he wanted it to go. Mozzie slowly glanced over at Nora, who couldn't hide a small grin that spread on her lips. She raised her eyebrows knowingly, gesturing for him to get on with it. _I tried to warn you, __Moz_. "Come on, let's see it."

Mozzie pulled it out of his pocket without a word and flipped it up in the air. Peter caught it and examined it. "Ah, it's a hell of a thing," he sighed.

"Islamic dinar from the Abbasid dynasty," Mozzie explained. "Last seen in the museum in Mosul."

"I really shouldn't even know about this," Peter mused. "Alicia's guilty, isn't she?"

"Looks like it," Nora agreed.

"Ahh," he hissed, turning the coin over in his hands. "I'm holding damning evidence, and I can't do a damn thing about it." Nora realized the position he was in, very suddenly. Illegally obtained evidence was no joke. If they took the case to court with that, the entire case would be thrown out if anyone realized how they got the evidence. Peter could lose his job.

"You're rules, tin man," Mozzie said, "not mine."

"Come on, Peter," Nora sighed. "Give me the coin." She didn't want Peter to get in trouble for what had been her and Mozzie's doing.

Peter didn't hand over the coin. He continued to stare at it wistfully. "I can see it now, FBI agent illegally obtains evidence, news at eleven."

_Now, there's an idea_, Nora thought, biting her lip. "It's a hell of a story," she mused. "Too bad she can't report it."

Peter's eyes snapped to hers, his mind heading in the same direction as hers. "Maybe she can."


	41. Rolling

Chapter Forty-One

Rolling

"Alright, you remember the plan?" Peter asked once again. Nora rolled her eyes, shifting impatiently as she fussed over her makeup.

"Yes, Peter," she huffed, "I remember the plan. You only made me go over it a dozen times." He gave her a hard look. "I go in, I go on camera, I shake Alicia up." That was an oversimplification, but Peter decided to stop pressing her. He knew, of course, that she was going to do fine, but there was a lot riding on this, and Peter couldn't help but fret over it. The future of an innocent man depended on Nora's ability to lie – not that Peter had any doubt in _that_.

"Okay," he sighed, "you're right. Are you ready?"

She snapped her compact closed with a _snap_ and stood with an easy smile. Apparently she wasn't as frustrated with him as she had seemed. "Always," she said.

Peter nodded and checked his watch. They were still on schedule. "Alright, Jones is going to take you to the studio." Peter decided it was best if he wasn't anywhere near there. He didn't want to risk Alicia seeing him and connecting Nora to the FBI.

Jones was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, ready to go. Nora smiled at Peter once again. "It's going to work," she assured him. "It's a good plan."

"I know." Peter wondered idly if she was really that confidant, or if it was an act to try and reassure Peter. Maybe it was both. Nora turned and left without another word, and Peter watched her and Jones disappear into the elevator.

Peter couldn't relax, despite her attempt to reassure him. All he could think about was John sitting in jail, an innocent man; and Dana, crying in Peter's home, not knowing if her husband was going to come home after all of this.

* * *

Nora sat in a chair on the studio set, making herself fidget nervously as she looked around at the film crew buzzing about. Over the soft chatter, she heard the _click-clack_ of heels as Alicia made her way toward Nora. "Are we rolling?"

Nora stood quickly, smiling. "Hi," she greeted, offering Alicia a hand to shake.

"Oh, hi. Alicia Teagan."

"Good to meet you," Nora said, still shaking her hand enthusiastically. "I'm a huge fan."

"Oh, thank you." She checked the mic clipped to Nora's jacket. "Okay, you're all mic'd up. Let's, uh, let's get started." They each sat down. "Your name?"

"Ah, we'll get to that," Nora said dismissively.

"Just relax," Alicia instructed softly, noticing Nora's fake nervousness. "Take a deep breath." Nora nodded, doing as she asked. "So why don't we, uh, why don't we start at the beginning?"

"Okay, yeah," Nora agreed. She paused for a second, as if thinking through her words carefully. "Once upon a time in Iraq, there were two people. One was greedy, and a thief. The other was pretty and opportunistic." Alicia blanched. "Together, they found a great deal of treasure."

Alicia let out a forced, humorless laugh, attempting to cover her discomfort. "I think this is something we should be discussing off camera."

Nora grinned, leaning forward. She dropped the nervous act. "Oh, no," she insisted, "that's just the prologue. I'm getting to the setup. "They smuggled that treasure back here. It went off without a hitch. But they needed a fall guy, someone to take the heat off them so they could sell the treasure without interference." Alicia shifted uncomfortably. "That fall guy is a soldier _you _know. John Mitchell."

Alicia hesitated for a moment. "Well," she said curtly, "unfortunately, your story's missing something very important. _Proof._"

"Oh, I got proof," Nora assured her, pulling the coin out of her pocket. She held it up for Alicia and the cameras to see. It glittered in the studio lights. Nora grinned. Alicia was pale, staring at the coin in disbelief. "Recognize this?" She didn't answer. "What this story is missing is an ending. I'm not sure what happens to Mitchell. The outcome of his life may as well be decided on the toss of a coin." Nora couldn't help but go for a touch of the dramatic. She tossed the coin into the air. It spun head over tails, and Alicia's eyes followed it. Nora caught it and slapped it to the back of her other palm. "Wanna call it for me?"

It seemed to take Alicia a moment to find her voice. Her lower lip trembled a little. "Turn off the cameras." No one moved. Nora held Alicia's eyes, grinning softly. Alicia broke eye contact, turning toward the frozen crew. "Turn off the cameras!" she snapped.

"Hold the roll," the cameraman ordered.

Alicia stood and moved to run off, perhaps to go make a call to Aimes. Jones was waiting to intercept her.

* * *

Nora was waiting in Peter's office when he finished interrogating Alicia. "Our plan worked," Peter informed her as he took a seat at the desk. "She spilled everything."

Nora smirked. "I said it would work, didn't I?"

Peter ignored her. "The problem is, she doesn't know where the gold is. After they got back in the States, Aimes shut her out."

Nora frowned. "So where does that leave us?"

"I think, if Alicia reaches out to Aimes and tells him there's heat on from the FBI, he'll trust her when she says she found a private buyer so they can get rid of the gold."

"Let me guess," Nora said, "I'm the private buyer?"

"Your powers of deduction amaze me," he said teased. She rolled her eyes. "We'll get the buy set up for later today."

* * *

The plans were set quickly. Peter sent Nora to go get ready; office attire didn't exactly scream millionaire. Lauren was walking out of Peter's office as Nora left the conference room. "So Aimes is willing to meet you at a private gallery later today?" she asked.

Nora grinned. "Apparently, I'm a wealthy buyer."

Jones was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Not missing a beat, he handed her a file. "And this is your car for the day." Nora flipped it open.

She laughed. _This has to be a joke, right_? Jones didn't laugh. Her smile fell. "You're not… you're not kidding."

"It's a Mercedes," Lauren defended. The picture showed an ugly silver car with the words 'SEIZED AS EVIDENCE' printed in big red letters in the corner.

Nora looked at her incredulously. "This isn't even an S-class," she protested. "I need to look like I can drop a few million on antiquities." She closed the file and turned back to Lauren. "This says, 'look what Grandma left me in her will.'" She handed the file back pointedly.

Lauren rolled her eyes. "Really, you can't make this work? What kind of a con woman are you?" Nora glared at her. "The Nora Caffrey I did my thesis on could make this work." She pressed the folder back into Nora's hands before walking off. Jones, stifling a laugh, clapped her on the shoulder and followed Lauren.

_What kind of a con woman are you_? she thought bitterly. _Make it work._ Nora smiled slowly.


	42. Making it Work

Chapter Forty-Two

Making it Work

Mozzie was asleep on her couch when she rushed in. "Moz, wake up," she said, tapping him on the shoulder as she passed, making her way toward the wardrobe.

"Leave me alone," he grumbled sleepily.

"Come on, come on, Moz," she prompted, as if she was calling a dog, "come on."

He jerked upright, scrubbing his face with his hands in confusion. "Did you draw on my face?" There was a hint of accusation in his tone, and she wondered vaguely what he had been dreaming about.

"What?" she laughed. "No. Aimes is meeting with me today. Gotta go in as a serious high roller. Need a car." She pulled a sharp, dark gray designer pants suit out, along with a crimson blouse. The pricetag on the outfit had been outragous – exactly the reason she hadn't _purchased_ it – and would fit the role of wealthy buyer nicely.

"I'll get my slim jim," Moz offered, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

"Nope. Can't steal it." She found a pair of designer heels that matched the suit, as well as a purse. Both also very expensive, and very stolen. She wondered if Peter had considered the thought that most of the clothes that had been in her storage unit were stolen, or if he willingly ignored that idea. Either way, there was no proof, so she wasn't too concerned.

"Yeah," he scoffed. "We 'can't steal it.'" He made air quotes, rolling his eyes. Nora just grinned.

"Don't worry," she assured him, "I've already got a plan." He scrambled to find his glasses on the coffee table.

* * *

Just as Nora had expected, the car cleaning service was currently in the process of cleaning out a limo. A bunch of men milled about as Nora and Mozzie, dressed in vaguely law enforcement-esque attire, approached. "Excuse me, sir," she called, grabbing the attention of the man leaning in the limo's open back door. "Could you step away from the car?" He did as he was asked. "Thank you."

Another man stepped forward, not looking very happy about what was going on. "Yo, you need something?" He loomed over her; she didn't flinch. Mozzie wandered away, leaving the talking to her.

Prepared for this, Nora held up her consultant ID, banking on the fact he wouldn't read it too closely. "Yeah. Captain told you I was coming, right?" He stared at her blankly. "Says FBI."

"What'cha talking about?"

"One of your limos was involved in a four-eighteen last night," she lied. She didn't know what a four-eighteen was, but it certainly sounded good. "I'm supposed to bring it back to the forensic motor pool." She glanced around his shoulder and turned her attention to Moz, who was standing at the front of the car. "What's the plate on that?"

"Uh, XC7-32W," he read.

The man shifted. "We're cleaning it now."

Nora looked at him in disbelief. "Griggs, get this guy out of here."

"No, I didn't get a call about any of this," the man insisted.

Mozzie turned his attention to a man in the back seat. "You, beat it." The man in the car stepped out, watching in confusion.

"Is that our vehicle?" Nora asked. Mozzie poked his head in.

"Woah! We've got gunshot residue." He wiped a finger along the inside of the door and held it up to his nose. "Looks like it's been snowing back here."

Nora rounded on the man she'd been arguing with, crossing her arms. "How many of your guys touched this car?"

"We're a cleaning company," he reminded her.

"Oh, really?" she laughed. "Okay, there's two ways we can do this. One, I take the care back with me, no one gets asked any questions." She took a step closer, looking him hard in the eyes. "The second way, we assume whatever's in the back seat belongs to one of you."

He glared at her for a second, and she glared back. After a moment, he scoffed, raising his hands in exasperation. "It's about my pay grade, lady. Take it."

She smiled sweetly. "Excellent. Griggs, give him a receipt." She made her way around to the passenger side seat as Mozzie handed him a slip of paper.

"Say no to drugs, chief," Mozzie told him.

The man snatched the receipt out of Mozzie's hand. "Yeah, whatever." Mozzie climbed in the driver's seat and started the limo. As they pulled away, Nora turned to grin at him.

"'Say not to drugs, chief,'" she teased. "Been watching a little too much CSI, there Moz."

* * *

The look on Lauren's face when Nora met her and Alicia at the FBI half an hour later – in a limo rather than a Mercedes – was priceless. "What's this?" she demanded, her expression simultaneously one of exasperation and awe.

Nora shrugged. "I made it work." Lauren shook her head slowly, and the three of them climbed into the limo.

"So, you two remember the plan?" Lauren prompted as Mozzie pulled into the New York City traffic.

"We go in, get Aimes to talk, and the team in the van swoops in to arrest him," Nora summarized. "Easy-peasy." Lauren rolled her eyes.

Lauren proceeded to go over the full plan, in depth for the rest of the car ride. Alicia, who was pale and nervously fiddling with the hem of her skirt, listened intently. Nora tuned her out. It wasn't long before they pulled to stop outside the gallery.

Mozzie got out of the car and came around, opening the door like a good little chauffeur, and the three of them stepped out. Alicia looked unsteady. "Relax," Nora said softly. "You're gonna be fine."

"Yeah," she scoffed. The three of them started walking. "You have no idea how dangerous Aimes can be."

"It's just a game." Obviously, it was way more than a game. An innocent man's fate was at stake, after all. One slip, and he went away for a very long time. But, sometimes, when the stakes were high, acting like there was nothing to lose helped to take the pressure off. Pressure was the last thing you wanted to feel when a single misstep would spell disaster.

"Never let them see you sweat, right?" That was exactly right.

Aimes and his bodyguard met them outside the gallery. "Alicia," he greeted. "You look lovely." Alicia put on a convincing fake smile, and went up to him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek in way of greeting.

Alicia stepped away, and gestured toward Nora. "This is the woman I was telling you about," she explained."

Nora smiled broadly. "And this is my business manager," she explained, nodding toward Lauren, who offered a small smile of her own. She gave off an attitude of all business.

Aimes smiled at both of them, shaking their hands in turn. "Charmed," he said as he shook Lauren's hand.

"Likewise."

"Come in," he welcomed. They followed him inside. He lead them into a room with beautiful artifacts displayed. "Enjoy." Nora began looking around, admiring the pieces. "How long have you been collecting antiquities?"

"Years," she admitted. "I also admire the occasional reproduction."

"So you're familiar with the Ptolemaic period, then?"

"I am."

"Shame the Greeks put an end to it," he mused wistfully, staring at one of the displays.

Nora raised an eyebrow. "Shame you didn't have a better history teacher," she corrected. "Soter's reign over Ptolemaic Egypt ended with the death of Cleopatra in the Roman conquest of 30 BC, not the Greek." She studied another piece closely, and could feel stares on the back of her head. She stood and faced them, their faces all varying degrees of surprised. "Or, so I've been told," she added, feigning a humble expression.

Aimes seemed mildly impressed. "Would you like to see the actual pieces, then?" It had been a test, and Nora passed.

Nora stooped to examine another display. "I already have, haven't I?" She stood, grinning. "These aren't reproductions."

"Good eye."

Alicia looked at Aimes, incredulous. "They've been here all along?"

"I've always believed the best place to hide something is in plain sight," he explained. Alicia was having a hard time concealing her anger. "Is everything alright?"

"Of course," she lied weakly.

"Smile, Alicia," Aimes prompted. "It's almost over."

Lauren, noticing Alicia's composure crumbling, redirected the conversation. "Yes," she said, kneeling down to open the briefcase she'd brought with her. "Can we move this along?" Inside the case was a lot of cash… fake, but convincing enough to fool someone who didn't look too closely.

Nora smiled at Aimes. He didn't return it, instead stepping slowly behind his bodyguard. The bodyguard, in response, raised a gun, pointing it straight at Nora. Her stomach dropped. That was not part of the plan. It was supposed to be easy-peasy, after all.

Nora held up her hands, taking a step back. "Whoa, whoa, what's going on?" _Keep the cover. Keep the cover_. Lauren didn't move, didn't draw the gun hidden in the suitcase, perhaps also trying to keep their cover.

"Don't play games with me," Aimes hissed. "You're with the FBI." _Welp. So much for the cover_. Lauren, not missing a beat, finally drew her gun, training it on the bodyguard.

"Technically, I'm just a consultant," she admitted, heart pounding in her chest. She nodded toward Lauren. "She's with the FBI."

"Regardless," Aimes said, "no need for a fifth wheel." Aimes took off running. The bodyguard stayed behind, gun still aimed at Nora. Lauren and the bodyguard, eyed each other, waiting for a chance to take a shot.

"Looks like we have a standoff," Nora said lightly.

"No we don't," Lauren said. "Shoot her. Then I'll have you on murder, too." Her voice was nonchalant, as if Nora dying wouldn't upset her in the slightest. Nora stared at her in disbelief. _Is this because the 'she's with the FBI' comment_? The bodyguard shifted uncomfortably. "Go on."

* * *

Peter rounded a corner as Aimes came bolting out a back exit of the gallery. Needless to say, their plan had not been going well in the slightest. "Hey," he called after Aimes. "Hey! Don't make me shoot you!" Aimes disappeared around a corner.

Aimes had stopped, and Peter noticed too late he had drawn a gun. He fired off two shots, and Peter ducked behind the corner. "Drop the gun!" he called. Peter pulled his walkie off his belt. "Jones, I need immediate back-up."

As Peter waited, gun drawn, he heard the sound of tires screeching, followed by a dull _thud_. Slowly, he peered around the corner. Aimes was sprawled on the ground, the limo Nora had arrived in stopped in front of him.

The little guy, Haversham, had mowed Aimes down. Peter walked over as Aimes glanced around, dazed, and kicked his gun away. As Peter approached the car, the little guy rolled down the window. "I was never here." He took a sip of his champagne.

Peter grinned, patting the top of the car, as the little guy back away and drove off.


	43. Sentiment

Chapter Forty-Three

Sentiment

Nora didn't get shot, so that was a plus. As Jones cuffed Aimes' bodyguard, she couldn't help but glare at Lauren. When the agent noticed, she just smiled sweetly and shrugged her shoulders. Peter joined them a few minutes later, having caught Aimes.

"What's with the sour face?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Apparently Lauren doesn't care if I get shot, as long as it means bringing the bodyguard up on a murder charge." Peter turned to look at Lauren, confused.

"Oh my God," she huffed, rolling her eyes, "he wasn't going to shoot you. Stop being so overdramatic."

"Overdramatic? You _told _him to shoot me." Peter was barely managing to contain his laughter. "How would you have felt if he actually did?"

"I would have enjoyed the peace and quiet, for one."

Nora was about to shoot back some retort, but Peter stepped between them, still smirking. "Okay, you two, that's enough. Nora, Lauren would have felt really bad if you were shot. Lauren, we generally don't encourage criminals to shoot the people on _our_ side. Are we happy now?" They both grumbled something to the effect of 'not really,' but Peter just clapped them both on the shoulder as if they had agreed.

Back at the office, after the pile of paperwork was finished, John was set free. There was an emotional, tearful reunion of Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell, and Nora couldn't help but feel a warm, fuzzy feeling in her stomach about how the case had played out. _Maybe solving crimes can be as rewarding as committing them,_ she mused. Or maybe that was just her sentimental side talking.

Peter was beaming as they wrapped up for the day. "Excited to get your house back?" Nora guessed, plopping down in the chair across from him. The sun was setting, painting the city in shades of orange.

"You have no idea," he admitted. He glanced up at her. Maybe there was something about her expression, but he looked at her, bemused. "You look awfully cheerful."

"Do I?" He raised an eyebrow. She shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a sucker for a happy ending." He smirked. "What?"

"It's a good feeling, isn't it?" he prodded. "Using the law to make sure everyone gets the ending they deserve."

"Justice." Peter nodded, staring at her expectantly. "It has it's perks, I suppose."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't press it. Maybe he realized that was the best he was going to get, and even admitting that was a step in what he believed was the right direction. Or maybe he just didn't feel like arguing with her over law vs. crime for the millionth time.

"How about you come over for dinner tomorrow," he offered, "celebrate the happy ending."

"Tomorrow?"

"Well, I was kind of looking forward to spending some alone time with El-"

"Yup, don't need to know," she said quickly, cutting him off. Peter was, at times, too much of an open book, and Nora tried to avoid those moments when she could. She stood, heading for the door. "Tomorrow it is."

* * *

Elizabeth opened the door when Nora rang the bell the next evening. She welcomed her warmly, as always. And, as always, Satchmo came running over, expecting scratches behind the ears that Nora was all too happy to provide.

The women moved toward the kitchen. "Wow, it smells delicious," Nora told her, entirely earnestly.

"Thanks, it's a recipe I picked up from a new caterer I've been using."

They each poured a glass of wine, sipping while they chatted and cooked. Cooking was one thing – of a great many – Nora had sorely missed in prison. There was little point in cooking much at June's, when she was going to be the only one eating it.

After a few minutes, Nora noticed something missing. "Where's Peter?"

"Oh, he ran out to get beer," she explained, rolling her eyes. "You would think drinking wine for the evening would kill him." They shared a laugh and returned to their idle chatting.

They ended up on the topic of art galleries. "I've been planning to go some time," she said when El mentioned a gallery that happened to be within Nora's radius. "It's just been hard to find the time lately."

"Oh, I've been wanting to go, too," El said. "It's just not as much fun to go alone, and it's a miracle if I ever manage to drag Peter to an art gallery."

Nora laughed. "He certainly picked the correct career for someone with no interest in art." Then Nora had the idea. "Why don't you and I go some time?"

El paused, considering this. "Are you legally allowed within a hundred feet of an art gallery without an FBI agent to babysit you?"

Nora thought back to the contracts and legal papers she had read when she agreed to the deal. "No one ever said I'm _not_," she said slowly. "Besides, why would I steal from an art gallery when I have incriminating evidence strapped to my leg?"

"Alright," El decided. "Sure, let's go." They hammered out the details as they finished their wine. Peter returned a short while later, and dinner was served. It was only after Nora had made it home later that evening that she noticed El had never mentioned their plans to Peter.

* * *

The gallery had been just as wonderful as Nora had hoped it would be. It was yet another thing that she had missed in prison. Just being able to go and see beautiful works of art, discussing them with someone who was as knowledgeable and interested in them as she was.

Elizabeth was great company, and the two of them got along great, even without Peter. El was very different than her husband, as Nora had noticed almost immediately upon meeting her. She got the distinct impression that, if she had been in the gallery with Peter, he would have been watching her, not the art, scrutinizing everything she said and every move she made. Elizabeth didn't seem even the least bit suspicious of Nora. It was somewhat refreshing.

After spending the day looking at the art, the two of them stopped at a little bistro for lunch. The conversation continued to flow beyond art. As they were finishing up their meal, Nora's cellphone rang.

"Oh, lookie," she sighed. "It's your husband." She answered.

"Hey, are you busy?" he asked without greeting her as soon as she answered.

"Kind of, actually," she answered. "I was just-" _Wait, he doesn't know I'm with El,_ she realized. _She never told him after all_. "I was just out to lunch."

She could practically hear Peter roll his eyes. "Oh, yeah, you sound really busy." She didn't respond, just waited for him to get to the point. "Something came up in the Welch case," he explained. "Do you think you can pry yourself away from your oh-so-important lunch?"

"Yeah, sure," she said dryly. "I'll be there in twenty." She hung up. "You never told Peter that we made plans." It wasn't a question, or an accusation, just an observation.

Elizabeth sighed, fidgeting a little with her fork. "No," she admitted sheepishly. "I was going to... It's just… Well, you know how Peter gets. I wasn't sure he would be comfortable with us just spending time together, so..."

"So you never told him we made plans."

"Yeah." Nora couldn't help but laugh. "I will," she added quickly.

"No worries." Nora laid some cash on the table and stood. "I gotta go."


	44. Oysters

Chapter Forty-Four

Oysters

Nora ran her fingers gently over the photo of Kyle, wishing desperately that she had any inkling of where he was. The California lead was long since dead. Mozzie hadn't been able to find anything in the entire west coast – or anywhere else, for that matter – that suggested where the man with the ring might have taken Kyle next.

In the photo, his bright blue eyes shone with concern – not quite fear, but silent contempt. His soft brown hair was cropped short along the sides, the top styled in a short wave. His face was round, boyish, and clean-shaven.

With a sigh, Nora held the photo to her chest for a moment, feeling her heart beat under it. Despite Kyle's messages, his clues, it was hard for her to hold back the crushing wave of hopelessness that ebbed inside of her. It might have been different if they were working a high profile case at the office; those were engaging, distracting. She didn't have so much time to sit and _think_. But one had yet to pop up in the weeks following the Aimes arrest.

There was a soft rapping on the door, a quick pattern. Mozzie. She stuffed the photo under her pillow – she hated him seeing her wallow – and stood, grabbing her glass of wine off the night stand. "It's open," she called.

He rushed in, holding a book in his hand. "I found it," he said simply, setting the book down on the table and opening it to a page in the middle. Nora joined him, taking a sip. "Right there." The page was a map, with a picture of the bottle's map paper-clipped to the page next to it. A circle was drawn around a point on the page in red marker.

"Grand Central," she realized. She nodded firmly. "So, something's there that he wants me to find."

Mozzie shifted. "But, thousands of people have been through there since Kyle left the message in the security tape. The odds that someone _hasn't_ already found it by-"

"Clearly, he thought that wouldn't be an issue," Nora insisted, cutting him off. "Otherwise, he would have left whatever clue or message somewhere else."

"I suppose."

Nora drained her glass and grabbed the bottle off the shelf. "Let's go."

"Right now?" She raised an eyebrow, and he sighed, gesturing toward the door. "After you."

* * *

It was early afternoon, and Grand Central Station was bustling with people. Nora and Mozzie stopped under an arch outside of the station, glancing around, subtly casing the area. Nothing immediately stood out. "Kyle leaves you a bottle with a map on it, and this is where it leads us," Mozzie huffed. "Grand Central Station?"

Nora brushed him off. "It's something I'd recognize, Moz. Something significant."

"Significant?" Mozzie repeated, incredulous. "Grand Central Station.

"Something familiar," Nora breathed. She bit her lip, eyes meticulously scanning over every detail. It was practically second-nature, thief's eyes.

"He could have sent us anywhere," Mozzie added, "so he sends us to a place that leads everywhere?"

Nora's eyes caught on a spot in the metal structure of the arch. "Moz." A panel with an X design across it, like a big, shining beacon. _Hidden in plain sight_.

Mozzie ignored her, not seeing the X. "You know, there's a great oyster bar in there-" She cut him off, pressing the bottle into his chest as she passed. He glanced around, now seeing the X. Nora climbed up on the foundation under it.

"I think there's something in here." She reached toward a small gap under where the X panel was. She was too short. Glancing around, she noticed a plant in a big, concrete planter and carefully stepped up on it to give herself a boost up. She balanced precariously on the edge with one foot, stretched out with one hand on the wall for support while she reached for the gap with the other. If any of the passers-by thought the sight unusual, they didn't show it – New Yorkers were used to seeing people doing strange things in the streets.

"X marks the spot?" Mozzie asked in disbelief. "Again?" Nora ignored him. She felt something in the space in the metal and pulled it out carefully, hoping it wasn't something gross someone had stuffed up there ages ago. It was a sheet of paper.

Nora hopped down. "Kyle loves the classics." Nora sat down on the foundation and Moz joined her. She barely had time to glance over the note before he grabbed it away and started reading aloud.

"'Dear Nora, heard you're looking for me. Wish I could explain more, but time is not on our side. But you need to stop looking. No one can deny what we have, but it's over. Please move on. Kyle.'" He handed the note back.

Nora's heart sunk as he read. He wouldn't have gone through so much trouble _just_ to say so long. It didn't make sense. "All this for move on," she sighed.

"Oddly bipolar." Mozzie shook his head. "I'd rather have some oysters." Nora unfolded the note, reading it again. _There's more to this_, she told herself, not sure if she really believed it or not. _There has to be_.

Mozzie clapped her on the shoulder, squeezing lightly to comfort her. It didn't but, she offered a weak smile anyway. "Come on," she sighed. "Let's go get you those oysters."

He was right; the oysters were great. Nora ate them numbly. She'd tucked the note away in her purse so Mozzie wouldn't think she was dwelling on it, but she tumbled the words around in her mind as they ate. Perhaps it was just her desperation talking, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something _off_ about it, something that just wasn't quite kosher. She decided not to voice this thought lest Mozzie start worrying she was in denial. _Maybe I am_.

Once back in her apartment, alone with her wine and her thoughts, Nora pulled out all the leads she had on Kyle and sat them before her on the table. And stared at them. It felt like she spent hours just looking, running over all the little threads and clues in her mind ad nauseam. It was late by the time she pulled herself away and got ready for bed.

* * *

The next morning, as she ate breakfast on the balcony, she attempted to read the paper, but found herself unable to focus. The day was beautiful, bright and blue. A knocking on the glass doors snapped her out of her thoughts. She could see Peter on the other side.

"Hey," he said, stepping out into the sunlight.

"Hey," she returned. He was carrying a file. She knew what that meant; a case. Hopefully a good one. Nora felt like she needed it, a distraction, an win.

"Have a good weekend?"

"Ah, nothing too exciting," she said smoothly, slipping easily into a relaxed, unconcerned facade. "I went to the park." She had; he could check, if he wanted.

"Oh, great." He walked behind her, taking in the view. "Glad you're getting out." Nora cast a glance over her shoulder, suspicious. Since when did Peter care if she was 'getting out' or not?

"Coffee?" she offered lightly.

"Love to, no time," he said quickly. "Got a stolen painting."

"It's June's Italian roast," Nora said in mock disbelief. Peter loved the coffee.

"It's..." Peter paused, considering the coffee for a moment. "Haustenburg." He handed her a folder.

"Haustenburg," Nora said wistfully. She loved Haustenburg. "Wow." She opened the file and started skimming it. "Was it a museum heist?" Peter poured himself a cup of coffee, unable to resist the temptation. If Nora hadn't been invested in the case file, she would have teased him.

"Nope," he admitted. "Residential robbery." That was a shock. Nora felt a wave of excitement growing in her stomach. She had a good feeling about the case. It was promising.

"I'd like to meet the person who keeps a Haustenburg above their mantle."


	45. Trust But Verify

Chapter Forty-Five

Trust But Verify

Nora was a ball of energy in the car after having read over the details of the case. She chattered excitedly as they drove. "I love Haustenburg," she said wistfully. "Which one of his paintings was stolen?" She ran though the list of paintings she knew the locations of, and couldn't think of any that might have been privately owned rather than on display.

"This one is called 'Young Girl with Locket.'"

She racked her brain, but noting came to mind; she'd never heard of that one before, which was strange. "No photograph?" She twisted a curl around her finger absently.

"No, but I bet you it's a painting of a young girl wearing a locket," Peter explained, flatly. He was acting strangely, she decided. He kept his eyes firmly on the road – somewhat unusual for Peter. His driving, at times, walked the line between passably reckless and terrifying. Since getting his Ford with assistive technology, he relied a lot on it.

But, more than that, he'd been somewhat curt all day, his tone clipped and his posture rigid. Nora couldn't think of what she might have done warrant the attitude, but decided if he wanted to share, he would.

"You don't get enough credit for your deductive skills," she deadpanned.

Peter ignored the jab. "It's worth two million and change." That wasn't surprising, though the thought of a painting worth that much just sitting in some ordinary person's home rather than in a museum intrigued Nora.

"That's nice," she admitted. "Haustenburgs are rare. Not many of his works made it out of Hungary after the war." It was part of her attraction to them. There were so few to be had, they had a sort of intrigue that Nora couldn't help but admire.

"Yeah, rare can make it valuable." He took his eyes off the road and gave her a pointed look. "_Very_ valuable."

"What are you looking at me for?" she protested, indignant.

"Why do you think?" He was still looking away from the road, which made Nora nervous, but it was no longer the pressing matter at hand.

"_I_ didn't steal it," she huffed, crossing her arms.

"I know you didn't steal it." Small comfort. He was being suspicious, though Nora didn't think she'd given him any reason to be. It was unfair. _I suppose that's life when you're a felon_. "But you like paintings. I'm worried that if we find it, it may be too much temptation for you."

She glared at him. _I'm not a child, Peter_. "I can handle temptation," she said dryly. He turned again to give her another hard look. The car started beeping, and Peter stepped on the breaks, just a couple feet short of rear-ending a taxi that had stopped to let out its passengers. "Wanna keep your eyes on the road?"

"This is a Taurus," he said lightly. "The car can take care of itself. I'm keeping my eyes on you."

"Good, good," she allowed. "The road is important too." The passengers of the taxi shot dirty looks at Peter, muttering among themselves about how they'd nearly died. Nora waved apologetically. "Sorry about that."

"No, don't apologize," Peter huffed. "That was… he stopped!" Nora rolled her eyes. _Sure, blame the taxi driver when you're the one who wasn't looking at the road._

They started moving again. _I know you didn't steal it…_ Nora paused, Peter's words fully clicking into place. "You know I didn't steal it. You checked my anklet?" If he felt the need to check, that must have meant he did initially think she may have stolen it. If she was being honest, the accusation stung a little.

"I always check your anklet." He said it as if it should have been obvious. "I pull a map up on you every day, so I can see exactly where you've been." Nora huffed in exasperation. It was so unnecessary, but also so like Peter. Zero trust. He looked pleased with himself, a small smile on the corners of his lips.

Nora glared out the window. He paused for a second, regarding her. "What's so interesting about Grand Central Station?" he asked, as if she needed any proof to believe what he was saying.

Nora turned back to him. "Oyster bar," she lied, not missing a beat. "It's the best in town." He raised an eyebrow, not sure if he should believe it or not. "I _stayed_ within my two mile radius."

He shrugged a little. "I wonder if we've been a little too generous on that."

"Oh, yeah," she scoffed. Where was all of this coming from? The past couple of months, things had seemed like they were going smoothly. They were functioning well as a team. How much of Peter's behavior had been an act? _Probably about as much as mine_, she admitted to herself. She returned to staring out the window sourly.

"What," Peter huffed, "are you gonna sulk now?"

"You don't trust me." She'd known that of course. Why would he trust her? He wasn't stupid, after all. But the very sudden realization of how deeply rooted the mistrust was kind of hurt.

"What did Reagan say? 'Trust but verify?'"

She glared at him again. "That was also the motto of the Soviet secret police," she reminded him. Perhaps not the best words to live by.

"Get used to it, comrade." He stared at her pointedly, as if daring her to protest. A taxi swerved in front of them, and the car beeped again.

"Eyes!" She felt like a parent in the car with a teen, slamming on the imaginary passenger's side break. "Road!"

Peter ignored her. "Let's just recovering the painting."

"Yeah," she huffed. "And _drive_." They were silent the rest of the ride, both now in somewhat sour moods. Nora supposed she shouldn't have been too upset with Peter. In his shoes, she wouldn't trust herself either. It was something that hadn't come up much in the past couple months, both preferring to ignore the glaring elephant in the room.

_Do I trust him_? That was the million dollar question, and Nora wasn't sure she could answer it. She certainly kept up a lot of acts around Peter. The times she wasn't hiding behind some sort of mask were rare, and only when doing so wasn't to her disadvantage.

They pulled up in front of the victim's home. It was beautiful, but rather more modest than Nora had expected for someone who owned a two million dollar painting. Despite her earlier anger, Nora felt the wave of excitement rising inside her again. The case promised to be a good one.

_I can handle temptation_, she'd told Peter. But, honestly, she'd never really tested whether or not that was true. _Guess we'll find out_. Maybe she would end up giving Peter a reason to trust but verify after all.


	46. Uncle Gary

Chapter Forty-Six

Uncle Gary

Nora was still pouting as they got out of the car, Peter noticed with a touch of annoyance. What did she have to be upset about? It wasn't as if he'd ever hidden his distrust of her. He joked about it pretty frequently, and she would just laugh and roll her eyes, unaffected. What was different?

Peter shook away the annoyance. It wasn't the time to be worried about Nora's fragile ego, or whatever it was that was bothering her. They had a case to be working, a stolen painting to find.

As they walked up, Peter couldn't help but cast a glance at his CI. Would she really be able to resist the urge to steal the painting if they found it? She said she could handle temptation, but Peter knew perfectly well how impulsive and childish she was, how often those sticky fingers got stuck on very expensive things. It was just in her nature. Peter sighed silently. He would just have to keep his eye on her.

Stopping at the door, Peter rang the doorbell. Nora stood behind him, face now easily shaped into a serious, but pleasant expression, otherwise unreadable. It was kind of amazing how quickly and effortlessly she was able to do that. If Peter hadn't known she was just pouting, he never would have been able to guess she was upset. _How often does she hide things like that, that I don't know about_? Peter decided he didn't want to know the answer.

The door opened. A young, blonde woman stood on the other side. "Hello," she greeted, "can I help you?"

"Hi. Julianna Laszlo?" She nodded. "I'm Agent Peter Burke," he explained, holding up his badge. "And this is Nora Caffrey. We're here about the painting that was reported stolen."

The woman's eyes lit up. "Oh, right!" She stepped aside and motioned them in. "Thank you for coming, come in."

They stepped in, and Julianna closed the door behind them. "Why don't you show us where the painting was?" Peter suggested.

"Of course. It's this way." She headed for a flight of stairs. "So, the FBI. You're really taking this seriously, huh?"

"We are," he assured her. "Are you the homeowner?" The house seemed pretty nice for someone Julianna's age to be able to afford. Then again, it didn't look like the home of a two million dollar painting, either.

"Yes." Peter shot a glance back to Nora, who seemed equally as bewildered as he was. This didn't go unnoticed by Julianna. "My parents are dead," she said simply. That made sense. Rich parents died, and left everything to an only child. "I'm over twenty-one, and I was robbed. Any other questions?"She came to a stop in a room at the top of the first flight of stairs. She spun to face Peter, arms crossed.

"Was the painting insured?"

"No." Another shock. What kind of two million dollar painting _wasn't_ insured?

"Worth two-point-six million," Nora said, just as confused by all of this as he was.

Julianna looked like a deer in headlights as she glanced between them. "Um..." She didn't seem to have anything to say to that. She pointed to a spot on the wall, the paint brighter white than the rest of the wall. "That's where it was." Nora shot Peter a knowing look, but didn't say anything. "Tuesdays, I have classes. Uh, the instructor let us out early." Nora was biting her lip, taking in the room. "I came in here, and there was this monster here, and he shoved me up against the wall."

"He hurt you?" Peter asked.

"Yeah." She swallowed. "I hit him in the face. And he said if I did it again, he would kill me."

Nora's eyes were filled with concern. "What'd you do?" she asked softly.

"I hit him again." Peter and Nora couldn't help but chuckle at that. Despite her small build, she seemed somewhat feisty, not a woman you want to mess with.

"Do you have a photo of the painting?" Peter asked, moving on. "Your report only had a description."

"Um..." She thought about this for a second. "Yeah, yeah." She pushed past them, presumably off to find the picture.

"Can I help you?" a man's voice asked from behind. Nora and Peter spun around to see a man in a nice suit coming down the stairs.

"Oh, it's okay, Gary," Julianna assured him. "It's the FBI. They're here about the painting." She continued off to find the picture.

Gary paused, just for a moment. "Oh, of course," he said slowly. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Sure, sure," Peter said. Something about the guy didn't sit right with Peter, but he couldn't quite place it. "Were you there when it happened?"

"No, I was at work at the time." _Of course you were_. "Wish I could be more help," he said, backing down the hallway.

"Alright, great," Peter chuckled. As soon as Gary disappeared down the stairs, Nora and Peter spun to face each other, apparently on the same page based on her expression. "We looking at an inside job?"

"Thief knew her schedule. Nothing else was taken. I'd go with that."

"I'd go with that, too. Help Julianna with that photo." Peter left Nora, heading for the stairs. "Gary," he called after the man, "I have a few questions." It wasn't until later that Peter realized he didn't think twice about leaving Nora unsupervised in a room potentially full of valuable things.

* * *

The case had gotten a lot more interesting. Things often did when they involved a greedy thief backstabbing someone who trusted them. Nora was sure Gary was their guy. Call it a gut feeling, or a thief's intuition.

Julianna returned just a moment after Peter ran down the stairs. She was carrying a small keepsake box, and pulled an old photo out of it. "Gary's your…?" Nora probed when as Julianna came to a stop in front of her.

"Uncle."

"Uncle," Nora repeated.

"Will that do?" Julianna asked, handing Nora the photo.

"Oh, my goodness," Nora mused, admiring the photo. It was black and white, faded with age. A beautiful young woman, the spitting image of Julianna, beamed up at her. Behind her, a small painting hung on the wall, in the same spot the painting was now missing from.

"That's my grandmother, and that's the painting behind her."

Nora smiled at Julianna. "She could be your twin."

Julianna chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment," she said lightly. "I was named after her. She raised me. When she died, she left me the house and… the painting."

Her eyes were growing a little misty, voice thick with sadness. Nora nodded sympathetically. "What did Uncle Gary think of that?" she asked softly.

Julianna took a breath, hesitating for a moment. "You don't look like an FBI agent," she dodged with a grin.

Nora laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment." Julianna giggled. "What does an FBI agent look like?"

"Um..." She considered this for a second. As if on cue, Peter reappeared at the top of the stairs, making his way toward them. "Him." Nora hid a smirk, and Peter glanced between them, lost.

"You got the photo?" Nora nodded. "Let's go." She smiled at Julianna as she passed, and the two showed themselves out.


	47. Gray Area

Chapter Forty-Seven

Gray Area

"I've never seen a guy lawyer up that fast," Peter huffed as they stepped back out onto the sidewalk. "I got that he's a stock trader on Wall Street and that his attorney will answer any further questions I might have."

Nora nodded. "So Uncle Gary tips of the thieves, splits the take," she guessed.

"More likely, Uncle Gary owes money to somebody, and he got tired of staring at two million bucks hanging on the wall," Peter corrected. "Now, he shuts up, we do this the hard way."

"The hard way?" Nora groaned. "All we need from Gary is the name of the guy he's working with, right?"

"Right." Peter wasn't sure where she was going with this. Finding that out would be no easy task, assuming Uncle Gary knew how to cover his tracks well enough.

"So, why don't I talk to him?"

Peter stopped in his tracks, turning to face her. "You?"

"Yeah." He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, let me rephrase that. Since I am a consultant, and not _technically_ an employee of the FBI-"

"A consultant on a tenuous probation," Peter amended.

"As I am constantly reminded," she said dryly. Sometimes Peter wondered if the _tenuous_ part slipped her mind, or if she just pretended not to pay it any attention. "Is there anything illegal about me talking to him?"

Peter considered this for a moment, feeling her expectant gaze on him. As much as he wanted to say 'yes,' he couldn't seem to think of a valid reason to shoot her down besides his own misgivings about her ability to curb her impulsive behavior. "You can't threaten him," he decided.

"Don't plan to," she assured him. He, of course, knew that. She worked with charm and persuasion, not intimidation.

"Or lie to him," he added, knowing that would be the wrench in whatever she _did_ plan to do. Lying was like breathing to the woman. It was a reflex, a natural instinct.

She looked at him in exasperation, as if being told not to lie was the biggest inconvenience. Peter just raised an eyebrow, a hard look fixed in place. "Alright," she relented. "Alright, no lying. I- I'm just gonna ask him for the name."

Peter didn't believe that for a second. _Plausible deniability_, he reminded himself.

* * *

Nora leaned up against a car outside his work, holding a newspaper. He would be out soon, and she cast glances over her shoulder as she waited. _No lying_, she huffed internally. _What does he expect? That Gary's just going to spill the beans because I ask him pretty please? I'm good, Peter, but I'm not that good_. She sighed. _I just have to roll with it._

She spotted him out of the corner of her eye, and raised her paper, pretending to read. "Tell me, Gary," she said as he passed her by, freezing the man in his tracks, "Does Julianna know you helped steal the painting?"

"You can't be here," he spat. She didn't look up from the paper, feigning disinterest. "My lawyer was very clear-"

"First of all," she said, cutting him off, "hiring a lawyer makes you look guilty." She gave him a pointed look.

"He told me specifically not to talk to the FBI."

Nora nodded, considering this for a moment. "Do I look like an FBI agent?" she asked, remembering her earlier conversation with Julianna.

Gary didn't answer for a moment, meeting her eyes evenly. Nora waited, face unreadable. "Who are you?"

"Think hard, Gary," she said softly.

His eyes grew round, and he shifted nervously. "Did he send you?" _Here we go,_ she thought triumphantly. _And nary a lie to be told_.

Nora stood up straight, crossing her arms. "What do you think?"

"God," Gary hissed, "I knew this would happen. What, that whole thing at the house was a setup?"

Nora raised an eyebrow. "How did it go wrong? Julianna wasn't supposed to be there," she reminded him. "Now she's a witness."

"It wasn't my fault," Gary insisted. "Her class got out early. Please, don't hurt her." Nora's stomach flip-flopped. _What kind of people are you doing business with, Gary_?

But Nora needed a name. It wasn't the time to be compassionate. "It's not me you need to convince."

"Tell him-" Gary struggled for words for a moment, eyes full of fear and genuine concern. "Tell him I'll make sure she doesn't cause any trouble."

"She's ready to sit with a sketch artist," Nora said. That may have been a lie, but she doubted that would come up later down the road, if they hauled Gary in for questioning. "This is the kind of thing that makes it much harder for him to sell the painting." _That_ was the truth. Any sort of heat made fencing a piece much more risky, no matter who you are.

Gary sucked in a deep breath. "How 'bout-? Here." He pulled his wallet out of his jacket pocket. "How about a good-faith payment?" He began leafing through his cash, pulling out a decent amount of green. "Here. Here's, uh… Three hundred dollars. That's all I got." He held it out to her.

Nora pursed her lips. "Three hundred?" She gave him an incredulous look. "Gary."

Gary sight. "Alright. You're right, you're right." He thought for a moment. "Um… I could write him a check."

Nora considered this for a moment. "That could work," she agreed with a small shrug. He scrambled to pull his checkbook out of his jacket pocket, filling it out hastily and practically shoving it into her hands.

"Please," he said, voice thick, "tell him- tell him what I said."

She tucked the check in her purse. "I'll see what I can do," she assured him with a smile. Without another word, she spun on her heel and walked away. _Like taking candy from a baby_.

Peter was parked a couple blocks away. He stood leaning against the hood of the Taurus, watching for her. She smiled as she approached. "Any luck?" he asked, meeting her on the sidewalk. She dug the check out of her bag and handed it over with a grin. "He wrote you a personal check, to the guy who helped steal his mother's painting?"

Nora nodded, still grinning. "He was very insistent." Peter fixed her with a hard look, not believing her for a second. "No threats, no lies," she insisted. "I let him do all the talking."

"I'm calling this a gray area," Peter sighed. He read over the check and started laughing darkly to himself. "Gerard Dorsett."

"You know him?" she guessed.

"Yeah." Peter shook his head. "Yeah, he's a... bad guy."

"So I figured." Peter didn't say anything, his expression now somber. "Hey, what about Julianna? If he figures out she's talking to us, then-"

Peter cut her off. "Let's catch the bastard before that happens." She couldn't disagree with that. They might have taken the easy route to get the name, but there was still a lot of work ahead of them to catch Dorsett.


	48. Butterflies

Chapter Forty-Eight

Butterflies

On the way back to the office, Peter called Jones to have him set up surveillance on Dorsett. The sooner they got eyes on him, the better. Peter told Nora to get in touch with her contacts to make sure they had an eye out in case there was any news on a Haustenburg being fenced. He doubted they'd learn much, however.

From there, it was a waiting game. The waiting killed Peter; the longer they took, the greater the chance of Julianna getting hurt became. Hopefully it didn't come to that. They had started their case on Sunday. Tuesday morning, Peter called a meeting to discuss what surveillance had found.

"Yeah, we got him," Jones assured them, surveillance video of Dorsett playing on the conference room's monitor. "We've been sitting on him for two days. They were going to every high-end gallery in Manhattan, offering the Haustenburg."

Peter watched the video as Jones spoke. He noticed an unfamiliar man behind Dorsett. "Who's that?"

"The big guy?" Jones asked. "Joshua. Ex-military, the muscle who stole the painting."

"Julianna wasn't kidding about the punch," Nora noted with amusement. Even on the footage, they could see the mark she had left on his face.

Peter grinned. "Girl has an arm."

"And the other guy," Jones said, moving on, "that's Dorsett. French expat."

Nora came around the table, studying footage with scrutinizing eyes. "What's he into? Besides shaking down stockbrokers."

"High-end loan sharking," Peter explained with a sigh. "Although, calling him a loan shark is like calling Oedipus a mama's boy." Peter moved to pick up a file they'd compiled on Dorsett. "He makes questionable loans with big corporate money. Get behind on your payment, he'll firebomb your office." They guy was bad news.

"Ouch." Nora was still staring at the footage playing, and Peter wondered – not for the first time – what she was thinking. There would be time for that later, though.

"But the good news is," Peter continued, "You get to meet him." That caught her attention. Her eyes were a little wide, quizzical, as Peter met them. "Tomorrow."

"How'd you arrange that?" she asked, bemused.

"I set it up," a woman's voice said from the door. Nora turned to see their visitor, a slender woman with red hair. She carried herself with confidence, and wore a smug smile that could give Nora's a run for its money.

"Nora, this is Taryn Vandersant," Peter introduced. "She's a buyer at the Lambert gallery, and is nice enough to help us out on this one."

Nora smiled at her, friendly. "I convinced Dorsett I have a wealthy client," Taryn explained, giving Nora a pointed look, "who's very interested in the painting."

"How much is he asking?"

"Hundred-thousand." Nora nodded thoughtfully.

"We've arranged to have the exchange happen at the gallery, Nora," Peter explained, coming around the table to stand next the women. "Jones, let's get Taryn prepped." The agents bustled off, moving to make sure everything got set up.

Taryn grinned at Nora. "This should be fun."

"It should," Nora agreed. Taryn followed Jones out. Nora turned to face Peter, who was smirking. "What?"

"Tell me that wasn't like looking in a mirror."

She raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

Peter chuckled. "Oh, come on. Smart, confidant woman, loves art, shady contacts, thinks FBI stings are fun..."

Nora shrugged. "I guess."

Peter shook his head. "Do you ever wonder if that could have been you, in a different life? If you had made different choices?"

Nora shifted uncomfortably, twisting a curl around her finger. "I suppose," she sighed. She thought about this for a moment, then grinned. "I mean, if you'd asked me when I was a kid what I wanted to do when I grew up, I wouldn't have said art thief."

"What would you have said?"

She laughed. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Before Peter could respond, she winked and walked away. Peter shook his head. Maybe someday, he would understand the woman, understand why she was who she was. But it was not that day.

* * *

Nora found herself alone at home that evening, for a change. Mozzie was off doing God knew what somewhere else, and Nora decided she was glad for the privacy. He seemed to have taken it upon himself to spend as much time with her as he could, to keep her mind off the unpleasant business of Kyle's note.

Alone, however, she was free to dwell on it as she pleased. Which she did. She poured herself a glass of wine and read the note over and over. _All this for move on_. It just didn't add up. Why go through the trouble of leaving clues, if the end result was the original message?

Her mind turned to the love letters she had shown Mozzie a few months before, during the Ghovat case. Fold them a certain way, and you get a hidden message. _Codes that can be cracked by anyone who ha__s__ ever seen the back of a Mad Magazine_, Mozzie had insisted.

Maybe that's what it was, then. She started folding. And folding. And folding. Any and every way she could, looking for the secret message. It didn't take too long before she had _something_ that made sense.

'Here

Friday

Noon.'

Nora grinned. "Kyle loves the classics." It had been more than move on after all. There was no way it was an accident; that would have been too big a coincidence. It was deliberate. It was the next clue. Friday at noon, Kyle would be there. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

For what felt like the first time in weeks, Nora slept easily that night.

* * *

She milled around the gallery as the agents set up for the meeting with Dorsett, admiring the art. Peter came up behind her as she studied an interesting modern piece.

"That's a big load of laundry," he said blankly, clearly not getting it.

"Yeah," she agreed, "it just sold for a hundred twenty-thousand."

"_What_?" He stared at it, confused. He leaned in, and moved to poke it.

Nora snatched his hand away from it. "Peter!"

"What?" he asked, clueless.

She shook her head. "You can't put a price on art," she reminded him.

"No, you can't. Which is why I think two-point-six is a little steep for the Haustenburg."

"You're not a fan of Haustenburg," she asked, surprised. They were gorgeous, and had wonderful historic value, which just made them better. What was there to dislike?

"Uh, I don't know," he sighed. "I just… It's a little cartoon-y for my taste."

She rolled her eyes. _What taste_? "Okay, you're… you're a philistine," she said dryly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, yeah, I'm the crazy one." He turned to an agent setting up equipment in the rafters. "You all set?"

"All set," he man confirmed.

Taryn came around the corner and grinned at them. "Well, let's get wired." Peter and Nora agreed, and he walked them to a back room where agents had set up the equipment for the two women. They started getting ready, and he left them to go get into position himself.

A pile of cash was also sitting there. "A hundred grand in cash," Taryn mused. "That's a lot of money." She flashed Nora a smile, eyes knowing. "Tempted?"

Nora froze. "Why would you think that?"

"Peter warned me about you," she said flatly.

"Warned you?" Nora laughed. "Sound ominous." Her conversation with Peter the day before stuck in her mind. _In another life..._

"Does it?"

"Yeah."

Taryn grinned. "Is it true you just got out of prison?" How much had Peter told her? Once again, she was reminded of his complete lack of trust in her. _I've got a job to do_, she reminded herself, swallowing the irrational irritation down.

Nora raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I just got out of prison?"

She smirked. "He said you'd do that."

"What?" Nora asked, amused.

"Redirect."

They were silent for a moment, and Nora considered what to say. She knew Peter could hear her; it was a wire, after all. "Yes, I just got out of prison," she admitted. "Yes, Peter is the guy who put me there. And yes… I'm tempted."

Taryn didn't seem put off by that. She looked at Nora evenly for a moment. "Is it true you escaped prison for a guy?" _Geez, Peter, did you tell her my whole life's story_?

Nora looked down and sighed silently. "Some people think I'm a romantic."

"Did he?"

Nora couldn't really answer that, she realized. Not until he saw her again. _Friday,_ she reminded herself with a twinge of apprehension in her stomach. "I'll let you know."

Once they were wired up, it was showtime. Nora got the signal that Dorsett was on his way, and they got into place. Taryn went to greet him at the entrance, Nora lagging behind.

"Good to see you again," Dorsett greeted brightly with a light French accent.

"Good to see you," Taryn agreed. "As I said on the phone, this is Ms. Devore." She gestured to Nora, who stepped forward casually, hands clasped in front of her.

"Call me Grace," she insisted. Grace Devore was a fun alias. A connoisseur of fine art, as well as a forger and fence of said art.

Dorsett smiled pleasantly, nodding a little. Taryn showed them to a back room, quiet and private. His bodyguard, Joshua, handed Nora a bag, presumably with the painting inside. Nora pulled it out. Sure enough, it matched the photo Julianna had given her. As Peter had guessed, is showed a young girl with a locket.

"It's smaller than I expected," Nora admitted as she looked it over.

"Have you seen the Mona Lisa?" Dorsett asked. "It's tiny." Nora had, in fact, seen the Mona Lisa, but that wasn't important. She shot a knowing glance at Dorsett. "Could I see the money, please?"

With a smile, Taryn opened a brief case and turned it so Dorsett could see. It had the money they had been talking about while getting ready. "I'd like to authenticate it."

Nora handed it over. "You two have know each other for a long time?" Dorsett asked as Taryn got to work.

Taryn considered this. "We've been friends for, I don't know… how long?"

"Years," Nora lied.

"How did you meet?" The two shared a quick look. They hadn't prepared for that question.

Quick on her feet, Nora turned to answer him. "We found out we were both dating the same man," she explained. "After we confronted him and left him, we became friends."

Dorsett laughed. "Monogamy is the great casualty of beauty." Nora resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _What a pig_.

"Not always."

"Please," he scoffed. "We use the expression 'butterfly' for a man who flits from flower to flower."

Nora laughed. "We consider butterflies weak, delicate creatures."

If Dorsett was offended, he didn't show it. "But, flap their wings, and they can set off hurricanes."

"That's beautiful," she said dryly. "You should write a book. Could we…?" she gestured toward the light switch.

"Close the doors, please," Taryn ordered.

"I have a girlfriend myself," Dorsett continued, heading off to close the door.

"Is _she _faithful?" Nora asked.

"She's French," he sighed. "I try not to think about it." Nora wanted to shoot something back about double standards, but held her tongue. They needed this to go well, and pissing him off wouldn't help achieve that. "Brigitte arrived last night, and I shouldn't leave her alone in a new town for long. Perhaps we could hurry?"

"Of course," Taryn agreed. "Lights, please." Dorsett flipped the light switch, and Taryn turned on a black light, shining it over the painting. An image of the painting appeared on the screen of the laptop connected to the light. "I've got fluorescing cadmium green and azurite blue. That puts the paint composition at pre-1960."

Before Nora realized what was happening, Dorsett had a gun pointed at her head, his bodyguard taking aim at Taryn. Her stomach dropped. _I am so over this 'having guns pointed at me' thing_, she sighed internally. "Perhaps you can explain why there are people signaling each other outside?" Nora didn't answer, just stared at Dorsett with wide eyes, hands lifted in front of her. "Who are they?"

_Think… turn this around._ "If you brought the FBI into this-" she said, voice low.

"It was not me!"

Taryn played off Nora's setup, giving Dorsett a hard look. "I told you to keep a low profile."

"You were careless," Nora accused. "You've been flashing this painting all over town. They followed you here."

Dorsett's hand shook, and he shared a look with Joshua. "Something is not right here." He started backing away.

"You're damn right it's not," Nora hissed.

Dorsett grabbed the briefcase while Joshua picked up the painting and stuffed it back in the bag. Nora wasn't exactly in any position to protest, with a gun aimed at her head. "For my time and inconvenience," Dorsett explained. They bolted.

After a moment, with guns no longer trained on them, Taryn and Nora moved to follow the two men. As they rounded a corner, the met up with Peter as he directed his agents in an attempt to intercept Dorsett before he got away.

"You okay?" he asked.

"We're fine," Taryn assured him.

He got the attention of a nearby agent. "Arrest them," he ordered. The agent stared for a moment, confused. "Arrest them. We have to keep their cover. Handcuff them, read them their rights, everything." Peter ran off, leaving them to be arrested.

Ten minutes later, Nora was being pushed up against a car and handcuffed. Even though she knew it wasn't for real, she struggled to push down her fight-or-flight – mostly flight – instinct, heart pounding in her chest. Taryn didn't look too worried, though.

"Where are they?" she heard Peter call from nearby and craned her neck to get a look at him. He was talking into a walkie-talkie.

"They disappeared," she faintly heard someone else answer.

"Anyone have eyes?"

"Negative."

Jones came walking up to join them. "All we got is this." He handed Peter a bundle of cloth.

"What?" Peter studied it for a second before it clicked. "Ah, they switched clothes." He tossed the bundled on the sidewalk. "Damn it."

Taryn regarded Nora for a moment, smirking slightly. "Things always this interesting when you're around?"

Before Nora got a chance to answer, Peter yanked her away from the car, a bit more roughly than he likely intended in his irritation. "Come on. You're under arrest." He grabbed her by the top of the head and guided her toward the back of the car.

"Ow, watch the hair," she hissed. He ignored that, slamming the door closed behind her.


	49. The Stakeout

Chapter Forty-Nine

The Stakeout

Peter walked hand-in-hand with Elizabeth. Sometimes, it felt like they never had any time together anymore. Elizabeth walked with Peter from the car to the office, chatting about the case as they went. "So, how upset are they that you lost the money?"

"'Upset' is a bit of an understatement," he admitted. "They've started an administrative inquiry." She glanced up at him, concerned. "Everything will be fine if I recover it… _When_ I recover it."

"Well, the good news is, Nora didn't take it." Same old El, always looking on the bright side of things. Always finding that one small victory.

"Yeah," he allowed. "This is progress."

"Do you think she actually had anything to do with it?"

"No," he admitted, "but the thing about Nora is, nothing is ever what it seems. The girl's a contradiction." He shook his head. "She gets mad that I suggest that the temptation might be too much during this case, telling her I don't trust her. Then she admits that she's tempted to steal it anyway, and doesn't seem to get what the problem is."

"But, honey, that's who Nora is. That's never gonna change." He couldn't argue with that. "I mean, if she was being honest about being tempted, maybe you should try being a little more supportive."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, if she thinks you're never going to trust her, why would she bother trying to earn your trust?"

"I'm not so sure she wants it," he admitted.

El shook her head, smiling knowingly. "Honey, she cares about what you think of her. If she didn't, she wouldn't have gotten so upset about your conversation the other day." Peter didn't answer. He hadn't considered that. "If you show her that you _want_ to trust her, she might try to be someone you _can_ trust."

"I'll believe that when I see it," he said after a long moment. El just laughed. "Love you," he said, kissing her quickly.

"Love you."

* * *

Nora caught up with Peter before the elevator door closed. "Morning," she said brightly, her annoyance from the day before at being arrested gone. She understood, of course, why it had been necessary, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable in the moment.

They chatted idly on the way up. Soon enough, they doors opened to the twenty-first floor with a soft _ding_. "Do you see what I was saying about you and Taryn, after talking to her yesterday?" he asked as they stepped through the glass doors.

"I dunno," she sighed.

"Come on," he laughed. "I get the feeling, you two would make great friends, maybe a positive influence on you." They made their way up the stairs.

Nora rolled her eyes. "You sound like my mom. 'Those friends of yours are going to get you into trouble. My friend's daughter is the sweetest girl, you should be friends with her.'" As soon as she said the words, she regretted them. Peter didn't know anything about her childhood, and she preferred to keep it that way.

He looked like he was about to ask a question, but she cut him off, nodding toward an unfamiliar man in the conference room. "Who's that?"

"Curator, from the Channing Museum," he explained, dropping the issue.

Nora's eyes grew wide. _Do they know…_? "Wait… w-why is he here?" she demanded in a low voice.

"The Haustenburg," Peter whispered back. If he thought she was acting suspicious, he didn't show it. "He says it belongs to them." Nora let out a breath.

They took their seat at the table and introduced themselves. Nora sat quietly as the curator pulled out photos of the Haustenburg. "How come the Channing didn't report it missing?" Peter asked.

"We did report it," the curator said, "when it was stolen in 1967."

Nora raised her hand, leaning forward. "I have a question," she said softly. "Uh, the painting was stolen in '67, but it's not listed on the Art Loss Registry." If Peter was surprised she knew this, he didn't show it.

"The Registry was established in 1990."

"'91, actually," she corrected. "You could have refiled the claim."

He raised an eyebrow. The line of questioning was making him uncomfortable, she realized. "I'm sorry, you are _who_?"

"Nora Caffrey," Peter said. "She's one of our art consultants."

"Caffrey," the curator mused. "I'm not familiar with that name."

Nora grinned. "It's probably for the best," Peter sighed.

"You're an expert on Haustenburg?" the curator asked.

"All the late European post-impressionists," she amended.

The curator passed a photo over to them. "I authenticated 'Young girl with Locket' myself when it first entered our collection. I agree, it's an excellent work, a bit sentimental for my taste, but the Matisse influence is apparent."

Nora saw Peter stifle a sigh. She smiled sweetly. "Well, considering Matisse was a fauvist," she said, "I wouldn't agree with that at all." The curator shook his head in exasperation. "Unless you're talking about his early work, which I don't think you are. And if you are, you're just wrong."

"We have reason to believe that this was taken in a residential robbery," Peter said firmly, stopping Nora from showing the curator up further.

"What happened to the painting when it was taken from my museum is not my concern," the curator said flatly. Nora raised an eyebrow. _What are you hiding_? she wondered. "Now, if someone elected to buy stolen property, I believe that _is_ a crime."

Peter gave the curator a hard look. "We're looking into it," he assured him. He scooped up the photos and stood. "Thank you for coming in to see us. We'll be in touch." Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed for his office. Nora gave the curator a sweet smile and followed Peter.

Peter sighed, sinking down into his chair. Nora closed the door behind her. "We need to talk to Julianna," he decided.

* * *

"Thanks for coming to talk to us on such short notice, Julianna," Peter said as she took a seat. Nora leaned up against the windowsill behind Peter, fidgeting with her rubber band ball. "We need to talk about the painting."

"Did you find it?" she asked.

"Not quite," he dodged. "Do you know how the Haustenburg came into your grandmother's possession?"

"She brought it with her from Hungary when she came to this country after the war. Why?"

Before Peter could answer, Jones came up and knocked on the open door. _Right on cue_, Nora thought. "Agent Burke, got a question for you."

"Yeah," Peter said, "excuse me." He stood to follow Jones. "Play nice, kids." They walked off toward the conference room.

Nora hopped down off the windowsill, smiling at Julianna. "What's going on?" the girl demanded, and Nora's smile fell. _Very perceptive_.

Nora shrugged, considering this for a moment as she moved to sit on Peter's desk. He hated it when she did that. She leaned in close to Julianna and dropped her voice down low. "You're not a very good liar." Julianna swallowed hard. "Your grandmother stole the painting."

"Why would you say that?"

Nora raised an eyebrow. "She never had it _insured_," Nora reminded her. "That was my first clue."

Julianna leaned in too. "Is this like a good-cop, bad-cop thing? He takes a call, you act like my friend."

Nora smiled. "If we get the painting, it's going back to the Channing," she said softly, "unless you give us a good reason to keep it away from them." In reality, she knew it didn't quite work like that, and that the Channing might get it anyway. _Not if I can help it_.

Julianna sat back, considering this. She didn't speak. Nora nodded. "Tell me a story. How did she take it? Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically?" Julianna raised an eyebrow. Nora waited, expectantly. "A little black dress, a laced bottle of whiskey, and a horny Irish security guard." Nora laughed. As art thefts go, it was pretty good. Especially for someone who, presumably, wasn't a master art thief.

"Why did she do it?" Julianna didn't answer. Instead, she tugged on the chain of one of her necklaces, pulling a locket out from under her shirt. Nora's breath caught. It was the locket from the painting. The pieces clicked into place. "That's the locket. Your grandmother is the little girl in the painting."

Julianna tucked the locket back under her shirt. Nora had what she needed to know, and excused herself to go meet Peter outside the office, closing the door behind her. _It's not going to make any difference, _she realized with a lump in her throat. _The painting will go back to the Channing no matter why her grandmother stole it_.

Peter came up the stairs quickly. "How's it going in there?"

"Ah, it's… It's fine," she said vaguely. "Any luck on Dorsett?"

"No," he sighed, leaning against the railing. "Assuming you just walked with a hundred grand in cash and the painting, what would you do?"

Nora considered this for a second. "Go to ground 'til things cool off," she decided.

Peter nodded. "Where do you go?" Nora didn't have an answer. Of course, she knew where _she_ would go, but Dorsett operated differently than she did. She barely knew anything about him. Peter seemed to have an idea, however. "Dorsett said something about having a girlfriend."

"Brigitte," Nora recalled.

"Yeah. How many Brigittes came in from France last night?" Peter bustled off to have an agent find an answer to that.

An hour later, they had a list. "Accounting for middle names and spelling variations, a lot more than I though," he admitted.

"Well, we can discount connecting flights," she decided.

"And women over fifty," Peter added. Nora and Jones looked at him in surprise. Apparently, he had also noticed how much of a pig Dorsett was. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"Well, that leaves seven," Jones told them.

"Alright," Peter said. "So let's pull in some teams and everybody take a Brigitte."

"We'll take the girl staying at the Gansevoort," Nora said quickly, pointing at a name on the list. Jones and Peter looked at her, bemused. "That's where I'd stay."

* * *

The stakeout was boring. Peter insisted on putting a basketball game on the radio while they sipped stale coffee and watched the Gansevoort's outdoor restaurant. "You'd think they'd have a satellite for things like this," she mused. Idly, she had folded a piece of scrap paper into an origami crane, and sat fiddling with it while they waited.

"Only thing a satellite is going to tell us is that he's not on the roof," Peter scoffed. "This is old school."

"Old school," she echoed, not impressed.

She saw Peter turn and glance at her. "Will you relax?" She ignored him. "Do you meditate?"

"No."

"Really? You look like a girl who meditates." She rolled her eyes, but he didn't seem to notice. He was busy digging in a small cooler he'd brought. "Sandwich?"

He opened the bag, and a horrible scent immediately filled the air. She crinkled her nose. "What is that smell?"

"It's deviled ham," he told her, offering the bag to her.

"No."

"Come on," he insisted.

"_No_."

The announcer on the basketball game said something about being back after a commercial break. Nora changed the station, looking for some music. "No, wait," Peter huffed, mouth full of deviled ham, "go back to the game."

"No, I called it."

"You're just touching the buttons. That's not calling it."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "What are we, twelve?"

Peter gave her a hard look. "I guess we are. When we're in your car, we can listen to your station."

"I don't have a car," she reminded him dryly.

"Poor life choice." Nora didn't say anything, just fidgeted with her crane. Peter turned the radio back to the game. "And we got the game."

With a sigh, she stared wistfully around Peter at the restaurant, spinning the crane around in her fingers. He glanced over at the diners for a moment, then back at her. "What do you think you can afford in that place?" he asked. It wasn't an unfriendly question, just curious.

She shrugged. "Spot me a twenty."

Peter regarded her for a second. "Why don't you use the new Gold Card you got?"

She smiled a little sheepishly. "You knew about that?" She laughed nervously.

Peter laughed back. "Keep it," he relented. "Makes it easier for me to know what you're buying." She returned to staring out the window longingly. Peter sighed. "Alright, _go_." Her eyes grew wide. "But no shenanigans. You've got ten minutes. And keep your phone on."

She nodded eagerly. She placed the paper crane on the dashboard in front of him. "That's for you." She wasted no time getting out of the car.

* * *

Peter was engrossed in the game. He'd almost forgotten about Nora running off. Suddenly, there was a thump on the door. "Hey," she greeted cheerfully.

He turned slowly. "What?" She cast a glance over he shoulder. Two women were standing on the other side of the street. She waved, and one of them waved back. "Who are they?"

"That's Brigitte and her friend," Nora explained. "We hit it off, and I convinced them to invite me up to their suite for drinks. I told them my… friend was waiting in the car, and he'd probably like to come to."

"Are you completely out of your mind?"

Nora sighed impatiently. "The room is rented in her name. We're not breaking any laws if she invites us in." Peter huffed, not sold. "Look, the hundred grand and the painting could be inside. Wouldn't you like to know if we're sitting in the right place?" He was quiet for a moment. "Peter~"

"Fine."


	50. Temptation

Chapter Fifty

Temptation

Nora chatted and giggled with Brigitte and her friend Claire in French on the way up to her room. Claire pawed at a very uncomfortable Peter, who attempted to gently push her away, but with little success. Nora just laughed, reveling just a little in his discomfort.

Once in the room, Nora casually swept over everything with her eyes. Nothing stood out, which was unfortunate, but not unexpected. Brigitte pulled a key out of her purse and the two girls went into the other room.

"Claire's cute," Nora noted, stepping over to the alcohol tray to get a look at the selection.

"Yeah," Peter scoffed, "she's exactly what I need in my life right now." Nora started mixing a drink while Peter began casing the room. "Alright, there are no men's socks lying around. Brigitte does not look like a girl who's worried about her boyfriend coming home."

He was nervous, anxiously bouncing around the room looking for anything he could use. "Peter, you have to relax," Nora said softly. "If we have the wrong Brigitte, we'll know soon enough." Peter wasn't paying attention to her. "It beats sitting in the car eating deviled ham."

"Alright, fine," he huffed. "The second we find out if Dorsett is staying here, we leave and we call in reinforcements."

"Done," she agreed, still making the drinks.

"They're coming." Nora glanced up as the two women came back into the room. Brigitte locked the door behind her. _What's in there that you don't want anyone to see_?

Nora held up the drinks. "Voila!" The women thanked her, taking them and moving to sit on the couch. Nora returned to Peter. "She doesn't want us in there," Nora said softly.

"Yeah, I saw her lock the door."

"If there's a door in the bathroom that connects to the master suite, I can open it."

Peter's eyes shot up. "No," he insisted, "you can't."

"I won't tell anyone."

"No," he huffed. "No. You understand the rules here." Nora rolled her eyes. Of course she knew the 'rules.' But, they could just call this one a gray area.

"Yes," she sighed, "I've heard the speech." Brigitte stood up and said something in French. Nora laughed, and Peter shot her a confused look.

"What did she say?" he asked when she didn't offer up a translation.

"They want to play strip poker with you," she said evenly. Peter's eyes grew wide. "I'm kidding." Brigitte kept speaking, twirling in place. "They want music, alright? Come on, relax."

Peter sighed. "Alright."

"It's over there," Nora said, gesturing to the stereo. "Come on." Peter went over and started fiddling with it as Brigitte pulled Nora over to dance. Nora excused herself. "Juste un moment," and quickly stepped into the bathroom.

"Nora," Peter hissed, rushing forward to grab the door. She locked it before he could. "I know what you're doing!"

"Juste un moment," she repeated.

"Cut the French crap," he spat. "Get out here."

"Keep them occupied," Nora countered, pulling a couple bobby pins from her hair and kneeling in front of the door to the master suite.

"I _can't_ keep them occupied," he insisted. "I don't speak French." Nora ignored him, quickly and easily picking the lock. She returned the bobby pins where they belonged and stepped into the suite.

She started quickly tossing the room, digging through the easy hiding spots first, moving on to the less obvious ones from there. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. She rifled through all the drawers, making something of a mess as she did; she doubted Brigitte would be sober enough later to question what had happened anyway.

Music started blaring from the other room, followed by squeals of delight from Brigitte and Claire, and Nora wondered with a note of amusement what Peter was doing to distract them. "Hey, Nora!" she heard Peter shout a moment later. "Caffrey!" Clearly, he was drowning without her there. "El called me with these two crazy women in the background. Not good." She ignored his plight.

Her attention caught on the mirror. It was several inches thick, and detached from the wall. _Not a bad place to hide something_. She lifted it carefully from the wall. Sure enough, the painting was tucked in the frame.

She grinned. She could still hear Peter from the other room, pleading with the giggling women to leave him alone. "If Elizabeth holds this over me, I'm revoking your badge." Nora lifted the painting gently. "I'll do it." They both knew it was an empty threat.

As she admired it, the women started laughing again. "What are you laughing about-? Nora, what are they laughing about?" His voice was full of desperation. Nora realized she was going to have to hurry things along. Quickly, she popped the painting out of the frame. It would be easy enough to hide it under her jacket with as small as it was.

"L-look, I'm not gonna dance with you," Peter insisted. "We can be friends. I'll have another grape." Nora pulled a top out of Brigitte's drawer to cover the painting with. "What aspect of warrant law are you still struggling with?"

Nora saw writing on the back of the portrait as she went to cover it. "To my dearest Julianna," she read aloud. "Keep this forever." Nora sighed. She knew what she was going to do. _This painting is not going back to the Channing_.

As she moved to put the frame back, she got an idea. _Just a little origami_, she decided, _real quick_. A moment later, the mirror was back on the wall where it belonged, and the painting was tucked neatly and discreetly under her jacket.

She locked the door behind her and finally rescued Peter. He was simultaneously grateful and infuriated as they made their way back to the car. "I can't even talk to you right now," he decided. "We'll discuss this in the morning."

* * *

Peter certainly gave her an earful the next morning as they walked to work. "Let me talk to Elizabeth," she insisted. "It's the least I can do."

"No," he huffed. "The least you can do is nothing, which is exactly what you will do."

"It's my fault," she sighed. She didn't actually believe that; Peter could have ignored his phone. It wouldn't have been the first time he let it go to voice mail while they were busy with a case.

"No, I don't need you to lie to my wife."

She raised an eyebrow. "You gonna do it yourself?"

"No," he decided.

"The truth, Peter," she said, faking shock and awe. "Bold choice."

Peter sighed. "Hypothetically-"

Nora jumped at the chance to craft a lie. "See, I would tell her I wouldn't stop complaining about the car, so you let me go into the nightclub and you witnessed the suspect enter after me, and had no choice but to follow."

Peter stopped, considering this. "It's almost the truth."

"It's better than alimony."

Before Peter could respond, his phone rang. He pulled it out, checking the number briefly before answering. "Yeah?" Nora couldn't hear what was being said, but Peter's face took a sour expression a moment later. "What about the painting and the cash?"

Peter sighed, and ended the call without another word. He turned to Nora, eyes somber. "Dorsett escaped."

Nora swallowed hard, guilt rising up in her chest. She stole the painting, right under Peter's nose, and now they lost Dorsett because of it. "This is bad," she managed lamely.

"Yeah, this is bad."

* * *

Peter tried not to dwell on his rising concern that night. As a rule, he tried not to bring his problems home from work if he could avoid it. But El was perceptive. She noticed Peter's mood, and insisted he talked to her about it. It didn't take much for him to cave while they cooked diner.

"You know, this one may be a real problem, El," he admitted as they set the table.

"So if you don't find Dorsett, what happens to Nora?" Under less stressful circumstances, Peter might have smiled. El was always concerned about everyone's well-being, it was endearing.

But this one was bad. Peter sighed. "She's done. She's back inside."

"Do you actually think she stole it?"

Peter sucked in a breath. He'd avoided thinking about that as much as possible. But, the fact remained, that Nora was alone in that room for a long time. They recovered an origami butterfly in the hotel room, where they painting would have been. Not for the first time, Peter cursed himself for not searching her after they left the hotel. _Why didn't I_? Maybe, he didn't want to know; didn't want proof that Nora given into temptation anyway. _Plausible deniability_.

"Yeah," he admitted.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be… I'll be fine." He wasn't sure if that was true or not. He sat down and sighed. "Honey, listen. About last night at the hotel.

"You mean the nightclub."

"Yeah, well..." He ran Nora's lie over in his mind again. "Nora was complaining about my sandwich, and she started fidgeting with the radio, so I..." He sighed. The whole lying thing, it may have worked for Nora, but it wasn't for him. "There was no nightclub."

She smirked. "I know." Peter let out a sigh of relief, but couldn't help but give her a confused look. How did she know? She grabbed his hand. "You don't think, after ten years, I know when you're..."

"Stretching the truth?" he offered.

She smiled. "Well, that's a nice way of putting it," she mused. "Next time, just tell me."

"That's what I told Nora," he insisted.

"Then stick to it."

"I will."

"I know you're a good man," she assured him. They shared a smile. "Was she cute?"

Peter froze. _This is a test, isn't it_? "No, now that depends on your definition, because I..." She smirked at him, barely stifling a laugh. "I gotta plead the fifth on this one."

"Yeah, okay," she relented. He poured them each a glass of wine.

* * *

At home, Nora pulled out the painting from its hiding spot as the bottom of a drawer. If Peter suspected she stole it, he would have a hell of a time finding it if he searched the apartment. Besides, she wouldn't have it very long, intending to make sure it got back to Julianna.

Her phone rang, and Nora didn't recognize the number. "Who is this?"

"I could ask you the same thing," a French-accented voice responded. Her stomach did somersaults. "You seem to have many names, _Grace_."

"Dorsett," she said evenly. "How did you get this number?"

"You had drinks with my girlfriend last night," he reminded her. "You paid with your credit card." She cursed herself silently. "I'm impressed with your resourcefulness. Now you will see mine. I want the painting. If it's not returned, Joshua will pay a visit to your friend at the gallery."

"You leave her out of this," Nora said, voice low.

"Brigitte was out of bounds, yet you involved her." Nora sighed silently. "You set the rules, now you must play by them."

"I need two days."

"That's all you get." Dorsett hung up. _Well, shit_, Nora thought. Things went from bad to worse very quickly.

With a sigh, she dialed Mozzie's number. "How quickly can you get here?" she demanded as soon as he answered.

"Uh, ten minutes. Why?"

"I've got a small problem." She could hear him sigh. "It's important, Moz."

"On my way." She hung up. While she waited, she poured herself a drink. It was going to be a long night. She gently set the painting on an easel, where it wouldn't get damaged.

As she expected, there was a knock on the door nearly ten minutes later. Mozzie stood on the other side. "What's this small problem?" he asked as she stepped aside to let him in. Instead of answering, she gestured to the painting. "You _stole _the painting?"

Nora rolled her eyes. "I was going to give it back to Julianna."

"You're like a child," Mozzie scolded. "No sense of consequence."

"You sound like Peter." She sighed, and grabbed the painting gingerly. "Look at the inscription. The Channing curator said he authenticated the painting before it was stolen. He saw that it belonged to Julianna, but chose to ignore it."

"And you're Robin Hood," Mozzie said dryly. She ignored him. "And did I forget to mention the part where you _stole the painting_?"

"I didn't think Dorsett would get away," she protested.

Mozzie shook his head. "This is because you don't like the guy from the Channing. You did this for spite." He wasn't entirely wrong. And she may, at one point, have been a teensy bit involved with a painting that was stolen from the Channing… she didn't steal it, but that was hardly the point.

She shrugged. "I've done things for less." She was silent for a moment. "I can't let him go after Taryn."

"So what are you going to do?" She didn't have an answer to that yet. She sighed, regarding him for a long moment. It wasn't hard to figure out the only play she had.

"It's a stupid idea," she admitted.

"You've had a lot of those lately."

"I need to go see Peter." Mozzie raised an eyebrow. She ignored him and turned to find a jacket. "I should be back soon. Wait here."


	51. A Stupid Idea

Chapter Fifty-One

A Stupid Idea

Twenty minutes later, Nora was sitting nervously at Peter's kitchen table. He had reluctantly allowed her in after she insisted it was important, and they had spent several minutes staring at each other without a word.

Finally, she spoke. "Dorsett contacted me," she explained. "He threatened to hurt Taryn unless he gets the painting back.""

"And why does he think you have the painting?" His face was a mask, which made Nora uncomfortable.

"Well..."

"This better be good," Peter said slowly.

Nora shifted in her seat, struggling to get the words out. She couldn't hold his eyes. _This is dumb_, she scolded herself. _I'm going to go back to prison_. But it was more than that… she didn't want to see the look on his face when she told him. She tugged on her hair idly, long black strands getting twisted around her fingers as she fidgeted.

He was watching her, expectantly. _I'm already here_. She took a breath. "I took the painting," she admitted quietly.

Peter sighed in frustration. "Damn it, Nora." Disappointment. That was the look on his face. Somehow, that hurt more than anger.

"I wasn't gonna-" He held up a hand, cutting her off. She tried again. "I did it for-" He cut her off once more. She glanced around, biting her lip. "We can use it to catch Dorsett. He doesn't know I work for you."

She finally held her gaze on Peter. He considered this for a moment before meeting her eyes. She offered a small shrug. "We'll set it up tomorrow," he decided. His tone was even. She nodded. She decided not to try and speak again, instead waiting for him to. He gave her a hard look. "Now get the hell out of my house."

"Okay." _Don't have to tell me twice_. She rushed for the door. "Goodnight, Elizabeth," she muttered as she passed.

"Night, Nora."

* * *

Peter couldn't quite put the emotions that churned through him into words. Of course, he'd already guessed she took the painting. But hearing her admit it…

Peter opened the file he'd been looking over before Nora interrupted his evening. The origami butterfly she'd left at the hotel was paper-clipped on top. That had been his big tip off that she'd stolen the painting.

Elizabeth came up behind him, rubbing his shoulders soothingly. "Well, she, uh… told the truth about the painting."

He held up the butterfly. "Because they threatened Taryn."

"It's a start."

"Yeah," he said with a humorless laugh. "It's a start." And, as he thought about it, it truly was a start. A couple months ago, Nora wouldn't have admitted to stealing the painting, no matter what the circumstances were. Now, even knowing he didn't trust her, she came to him when she realized things had gotten out of hand. That was _something_, at least.

* * *

On her way home, she called Mozzie, instructing him to gather up some supplies. _It's even more stupid than admitting I stole the painting to Peter_, she thought, _but I'm not letting the Channing have the painting_. Sometimes, she wondered if she was too stubborn for her own good.

Back at June's, it was time to get to work. It had to be perfect. She started painting, Mozzie looming over her shoulder, watching a forgery take shape. Despite how anxious she felt, painting calmed her nerves. Her hand was steady as she worked, all her focus on the canvas and the paint.

"You know you have absolutely no impulse control," Mozzie said as she worked.

"Hand me the Naples yellow," she said, ignoring his criticism.

He regarded the work as he handed her the paint. "Haustenburg's brushwork is much more fluid," he decided. "You're being choppy."

"No, my brushwork's fine," she snapped.

"This could trick the occasional tourist," he continued, "but this guy at the Channing will not be fooled."

She grinned. "I'm sure he won't." That was kind of the point. She worked in silence from there, Mozzie wandering off to entertain himself with other things and drinking her alcohol.

It took a while, despite the painting's small size, but finally, she finished. She called Mozzie back over and the two studied the forgery for a moment, checking it over. Mozzie leaned in close, peering over the top of his glasses.

"This pigment needs to be aged," he decided. Nora looked at him expectantly. "I'll go preheat the oven."

"It's one-twenty-five," she reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know how to age a painting."

In the end, there were two identical copies of 'Young Girl with Locket' on Nora's easel. Well, identical to those with less discerning eyes. All that was left was the inscription on the back. She flipped the paintings over and dipped her brush in white paint.

_This has to be the best part_, she decided, _the piece de resistance. _She considered it for a moment, and grinned.

'My dearest Walter, I know what you saw here last time. NC.'

_God, I hope this works_, she thought as she stepped back and admired her work. _Otherwise, I'm going to have a hell of a time explaining this to Peter._

* * *

Peter was silent in the car the next morning. He had a million things he wanted to say to Nora, to scream at her, even. But he found himself unable. Once that floodgate was open, he knew there would be no shutting it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her shift in her seat. She glanced back and forth between the road and him for a long while before deciding to speak. "How tenuous is my probation?"

"Pretty thin," he admitted quietly. "We need this one." He didn't know what kept him from hauling her back to prison himself. She'd stolen the painting, jeopardized the entire case, put Taryn's life at risk because of her poor impulse control.

But something about her stopped him from doing that. As El had pointed out, she did come clean about the painting – in the end, because it was more convenient to her than the alternative. Still, she had come to him, knowing there was a pretty good chance it would end with her back in prison.

"It's simple, right?"

"Yeah, so don't make it complicated. Take Dorsett down quickly."

Her voice was small when she spoke again. "If I get him, will you trust me again?"

That was the last thing Peter expected to hear. He couldn't help smile a little. "Yeah… comrade."

"You still gonna verify?" she teased, sounding more like her usual self again.

Peter laughed. "Oh, yeah." She sighed a little, but didn't press it. They were close to the meeting place, and Peter pulled over.

Nora unbuckled her seat belt. "Here we go," she huffed before getting out of the car. Peter watched her go for a moment, a knot forming in his stomach. The last time she saw Dorsett, he pointed a gun at her. If she was scared, her confidant gait didn't betray her. Peter sighed. It was almost time, and he had agents to get into place.

* * *

Nora leaned casually against a car as she waited, eyes meticulously scanning over everything. She was a bit more relaxed, knowing that things with Peter had mostly returned to normal. At very least, he wasn't giving her the disappointed eyes anymore.

Dorsett and Joshua were making their way toward her briskly. She regarded them with a steely gaze. They threatened Taryn, the time for light-hearted smiles was long since passed. "Surprised you had the guts to come yourself," she goaded. She held tightly to the bag over her shoulder, the forged painting tucked safely inside.

"It's not bravery," Dorsett explained. "I simply don't trust Joshua with a million-dollar painting."

"Is it hard to live like that?" she wondered. She pulled the painting out. It was wrapped in a simple cloth. "Not trusting the people closest to you?"

"I suppose," he allowed. "But I'll take the money."

Nora sighed, unwrapping the painting slowly to show him it was 'real.' "You won." He took it from her hands, covering it once more.

"Yes, but it was a good game."

Right on cue, sirens blared as a car came around the corner. Nora grinned, quickly walking away as a dozen agents swooped in, guns drawn. "FBI," she heard Jones call. "Hands where I can see them." She didn't need to see the show to feel the satisfaction. She did, however, hear a satisfying _thump_ as Dorsett was pushed up against the back of a car to be cuffed, and that somehow made it that much better.

* * *

Peter watched with bated breath as the Channing curator examined the painting. The man's brow was furrowed as he studied it, and Peter couldn't help but purse his lips. _No, Nora, come on. Don't tell me you did what I think you did…_

The curator flipped the painting over. "Nora, what have you done?" Peter breathed. The curator stared at the back for a long moment. "Problem?"

"No, no," he said, much to Peter's surprise. "I'm just, uh… overcome with the…" He flipped the painting over again, meeting Peter's gaze. "I'm thrilled to have the original Haustenburg back where it belongs."

Peter let out a breath, relief washing over him. _Bullshit_, he thought. _What did she do to convince him to take a forgery?_ He decided it was one of the many things he was better off leaving a mystery.

* * *

While Peter was busy with the curator, Nora took it upon herself to return the Haustenburg to its rightful home. Julianna welcomed her in with a smile. "I've got a gift for you," Nora said as Julianna showed her upstairs. They sat down, and Nora pulled the real painting out of her bag, wrapped like the fake had been.

Julianna's eyes were wide as she carefully pulled the cover off. "You found it!" She stared at the painting for a long moment, unable to find her voice for a moment. "I can't… thank you. Thank you so much."

Nora smiled. "So, I'm curious. Why did Haustenburg paint your grandmother?"

As an answer, Julianna handed Nora the locket. Nora opened it carefully. Inside were two black-and-white pictures; one of Grandma Julianna as a young woman, and one of Haustenburg. The pieces clicked into place. "Haustenburg was her father?"

"Yes," Julianna confirmed. "She was his illegitimate daughter. But he had a family then, in Hungary. It was before the war."

"How did the painting end up at the Channing?" She handed the locket back to Julianna.

"He willed the painting to my grandmother," Julianna explained. "Uh, when he died, the museum chose to ignore his will." She shrugged. "Who cares about the illegitimate daughter of a famous artist?"

Nora sighed. "It's not theft when rich men do it."

Julianna took a breath. "How do you know that the Channing won't try to take it back again?"

"Because, if they do, the curator will have to explain why the museum went against Haustenburg's wishes." Nora shook her head. "I don't think he wants that." Nora grinned.

The two were silent for a moment, Julianna looking over the painting again. "Oh, I think there's frame it will fit in upstairs," she said, rushing off to grab it.

When she returned, Nora helped her fit the painting carefully in the frame and hang it in its proper spot on the wall. The two admired it for a while in silence before Nora decided it was time she was getting back. Julianna was happy, the curator got what he deserved, and Nora wasn't back in prison. It was a happy ending.

It was almost noon, and Nora had an appointment to keep.


	52. Friday at Noon

Chapter Fifty-Two

Friday at Noon

Nora was back at Grand Central Station, and the clock was ticking. Noon was almost there. She scanned the crowds frantically, standing on her tiptoes as she searched for Kyle's face among the pressing masses.

Rather than Kyle, she saw Mozzie come toward her, munching on a black-and-white cookie. She wondered how he'd found her, but wasn't all that surprised that he had. "Forbidden romantic meetings are kind of a personal thing, Moz."

"Yeah," he scoffed, "like I was going to let you come alone. What if the guy with the ring planted that note?"

"He didn't," she huffed, turned back to the crowds.

"You'll be happy I came," he insisted, "when a red laser dot suddenly appears on your forehead."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Enough with the hero talk, Haversham." At times, he bordered on overprotective of her, despite her assurance that she was capable of taking care of herself. Beside, it wasn't like he was some big, beefy bodyguard type. What was he going to do?

"Okay," he allowed. "Maybe he wrote it three days ago, or maybe three months ago." That had also crossed Nora's mind, but she had to believe. If she didn't she would start to crumble.

"He'll be here."

"Well, it _is _Friday. And it _was_ noon. So where is he?" Nora rounded on him, about to shoot back some retort when the shrill sound of a phone ringing cut over the hum of the crowd, freezing her words in her throat. She glanced around, spotting a payphone nearby. _Who calls a payphone_?

_Someone who knows the person they want to talk to is nearby_. She bolted, pushing her way past people roughly and earning some dirty looks as she did. Mozzie trailed behind her. She answered the phone mid-ring. "Kyle?"

"Nora?" a low voice answered from the other end.

Relief flooded through her veins, and her legs felt like jello. "Kyle, where are you?"

"I don't have a lot of time," he said.

Nora started scanning around. "You're here," she muttered. _But where_?

"Nora, are you still there?" Nora didn't answer. "Nora?" Her eyes locked on Kyle. He was on a bridge looking down at the payphone, cellphone pressed to his own ear.

"Hi," she breathed. Even from a distance they locked eyes. Nora couldn't make out the look on his face, just barely recognizing the soft brown swish of hair atop his head.

"Hi."

"Stay there," she insisted, "I'm coming-"

"No!" Nora froze. "Nora- Nora, he's close."

"The man with the ring?"

"Yeah."

"I don't care."

"Listen. I need you to tell me where you hid everything." Her blood turned to ice.

"What?"

"The money, the bonds, the art, all of it." _No… No. This isn't right_.

"Why?"

"He wants something." There was something… almost desperation in his voice. "Something you took, something you hid."

That really didn't narrow it down. "I hid a lot of things," she admitted.

"Well, then give him everything. If he gets what he wants, he'll let me come back to you." Nora's heart was beating hard in her chest as she struggled to process, to understand what was going on.

"Who is he?"

"I can't tell you," he sighed. "It's too dangerous for you."

"Dangerous? Why?" Why wasn't he telling her anything? Why was he keeping secrets? "Kyle, just tell me. I can take care of myself. Let me help you."

"This is the only way you can help me," he snapped. "You always told me I had to trust you. Well, now you _have_ to trust me." Nora didn't have a response to that. She felt lost, helpless, scared… "I want to come home. Please, just tell me where you hid everything."

It about ripped her heart in two. The word hurt like hell coming out. But, until she knew, more, she couldn't just give the man with the ring what he wanted.

"No."

"I want to come home," Kyle repeated.

"It's the only leverage I've got." She swallowed hard. "Just stay there, okay? I'm coming up." She dropped the phone and ran.

"Nora!" Mozzie called after her, but she ignored him, running like her life depended on it. "Nora!"

Nora ran, making her way up to the bridge. "Kyle," she shouted as she neared where he had stood. He was nowhere to be seen. "Kyle!" She came to a stop. He had disappeared. "Kyle!"

There was no answer. Breathing heavily, heart pounding, she slumped against the railing. She was still standing there, staring sullenly ahead, when Mozzie finally caught up.

He didn't speak, just stood next to her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. They stood there for a long time. Nora was out of leads, out of clues. She had no idea what the man with the ring wanted. All she knew was that Kyle was gone again, and she felt cold and alone.

* * *

Nora finally made it home later that afternoon. Mozzie managed to pry her away from the spot Kyle had disappeared from. She felt numb. _Why is this happening_? she found herself wondering for the millionth time. _Why wouldn't he just tell me the name_?

Nora drank that night, more than she usually did. Mozzie sat with her, and if he was concerned, he didn't show it. He tried distracting her, but she ignored him, staring blankly out over the balcony.

They had no more leads. Unless Kyle contacted her again, or they ended up with another security camera picture like the one from California, there was nothing. The trail was dead, and they had more questions than answers.

_No, the man with the ring wants something_, she reminded herself. _Something will come up sooner or later, if he plans to get what he wants._ Kyle wasn't gone. This wasn't the end.

It couldn't be the end.


	53. Missing

Chapter Fifty-Three

Missing

In the days following the Haustenburg case, Peter noticed Nora wasn't acting particularly herself. She seemed sullen, distant. Her witty jokes and charming smiles were somewhat rare, and she mostly just sat quietly, only speaking when she had something relevant to a case to say. It was concerning, if Peter was being honest, but she refused to talk to him when he asked. She just offered a weak smile and said she was fine. He even invited her over for dinner in the hopes El might have been able to get something out of her, but to no avail.

But, slowly, it passed, and before he knew it, she was back to her usual, chatty self, all cocky smiles and confidence again. It was hard for Peter to just let it go. He told himself it was strictly because of the job. If something was wrong, and it impacted her ability to do her job, that was a problem. But, he knew there was more to it than that, and he tried not to think about it much.

Just a couple weeks after the Haustenburg case, Peter got a call from Hughes, demanding he and Nora be in the office first thing; something big had come up, but Hughes wasn't willing to share over the phone. He and Nora walked briskly through the bustle of the city, and Peter recapped what Hughes had said.

"Please tell me this isn't going to be another mortgage fraud case," she groaned. _Why would a mortgage fraud case have Reese calling me in early?_ He decided not to ask.

"What's wrong with mortgage fraud cases?" he asked instead.

"They're boring," she said flatly. "You stare at paperwork all day." Peter rolled his eyes. Childish, as always. It seemed some things never change.

"You could stare at prison bars all day."

She gave him a withering look. "Are you still playing that card?"

He smirked. "Makes me smile." She rolled her eyes, but didn't argue. "Anyway, no, I don't think it's about mortgage fraud. Hughes sounded… worked up on the phone this morning."

"What gets Hughes worked up?" she wondered.

"Something big." Peter sighed.

Ten minutes later, they were stepping out of the elevator. Two agents bolted toward the open door, shoving Nora out of the way. One offered a quick, "Excuse me." The other said simply, "Get out of the way!"

"Whoa! Why all the craziness?"

"I don't know," Peter admitted. The bullpen was packed, agents bustling about frantically. It was rare to see things this stirred up, and Peter couldn't make heads or tails of it. Something big, indeed. "This can't be good."

Lauren came up to them, face somber. "Peter, uh, Hughes wants to see you right away."

"Alright." He headed off toward the stairs, leaving the women where they were. _I get the feeling it's going to be a long day_.

* * *

Nora watched the scene before her with mute interest. She'd never seen anything like it in her several months working with the FBI. She regarded Lauren for a moment. "So, is this what it looked like when I escaped?"

"I don't know," Lauren admitted. "I was working _important_ cases." The agent smirked, and Nora rolled her eyes. Even after working together for months, Lauren seemingly had yet to warm up to Nora much.

"What's going on?" Nora asked, ignoring the jab. They started walking, looking up toward Peter and Hughes in the latter man's office.

"Uh, the Bureau is missing an agent." Her stomach dropped a little. She knew it was a dangerous job, everyone did, but the thought of it unsettled her nonetheless.

"That isn't good."

"Yeah," Lauren agreed. "He's an undercover from the D.C. office. We lost contact with him twelve hours ago."

"What do you think happened?"

"Well, could be in trouble," she allowed, "could be laying low. We're not sure."

Hughes' voice cut above the murmur of the agents, despite being in his closed office. "Listen-No, listen to me," he insisted, pointing hard at Peter. "We need somebody who understands money laundering."

Peter did not look happy, rubbing his chin roughly with a hand. He didn't offer an argument, and Hughes stood, quickly stepping out of the office. He looked down toward Nora and Lauren from the top of the stairs and gestured for Lauren to join them.

As Lauren started to move, however, Hughes held up a hand, stopping her in her tracks. Instead, he pointed two fingers straight at Nora. Nora nodded, and the two men headed toward the conference room. "Excuse me," Nora said pointedly, "I have an important case to deal with." Lauren rolled her eyes.

Upstairs, Nora took a seat. There were, inexplicably, dominoes laid out on the table, and she picked one up, examining it. "This is agent Mark Costa," Peter said, pointing to a photo of a man taped to a whiteboard that had been set up at the back of the room. "He was posing as a drug trafficker, looking to clean some dirty cash through this guy, Lao Shen." Peter pointed at a picture of a Chinese man. "Money launderer out of China. Costa was working him. 'Til last night."

Hughes took over, trading places with Peter. "According to his last contact, Lao was making a pit stop in New York for seventy-two hours. After that, he boards a flight to the home land and we lose him."

As interesting as all of that was, Nora didn't quite see where she fit in. She had never met Costa, never heard of Lao Shen. "So why are you telling me this?"

Hughes gave her a hard look. "Natalie Halden?"

She blinked. "Who?" _How do they know about Nat_?

"Cut the crap, Nora," Peter said flatly, not looking up from his file.

"We know she's one of your aliases."

"You created her to launder cash through that Canary Island scam you ran in '04," Peter continued. Nora didn't respond, focused on stacking some of the dominoes in front of her like building blocks. "Multimillionaire with a penchant for gambling. Ringing any bells?" _They think I created her in '04? Amateurs._

"I might have heard of her," she allowed. "Are you willing to offer her full immunity?"

The two agents shared a brief look. If they were surprised, they didn't show it. "Done," Hughes sighed. "I don't give a damn what you did five years ago. I want to find my agent."

Nora smiled. "Then what can Natalie do to help?"

"We want you to make contact with Lao using this identity. What do you know about Pai Gow?"

That explained the dominoes. "I know it sounds delicious," she joked. Peter looked at her in exasperation, his face screaming, 'this is serious, stop acting like a child.' She sighed. "It's a Chinese version of poker played with dominoes." She held up one of the dominoes for emphasis. "Not really my game." _I don't even think I could explain the rules_, she admitted to herself.

"Make it your game," Peter said firmly. "Lao likes to contact new clients using certain hands or bets. You'll be playing an underground table in Chinatown. Tomorrow night."

Hughes sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you," he admitted. "This is a dangerous one, Caffrey."

Those were always comforting words to hear. But this case, it was a big one. Lives were at risk. They needed her. But, she couldn't help but go for the dramatic flourish. She'd been setting the dominoes up idly, making a line like a children's game.

She flicked the first domino, sending the line tumbling down with a series of clicks and clacks. "High stakes," she said lightly. "I'm in."

Hughes walked past, clapping her lightly on the shoulder, but he didn't say anything. Without a word, Peter gestured toward his office, and the two of them stepped inside, taking their usual seats around his desk. Peter was silent for a moment.

"I need to know you're taking this seriously," he finally said.

"Of course," she said somberly. "An agent's life could be at risk."

He nodded, satisfied. "Are you sure you're okay doing this?" His voice was tight. Was he worried?

Nora raised an eyebrow. "Do I have a choice?"

"Yes. You're a consultant, not an agent. We can't make you knowingly go into a dangerous situation," he said, and Nora was tempted to shoot back that she'd gone into plenty of dangerous situations for the Bureau before. She held her tongue, however. "If you're not comfortable with this, tell me. We can find another way."

She sighed. "Peter, it's fine. Really." She offered him a cocky smile. "I'm used to dangerous situations, remember?" He didn't look convinced. "Besides, I know you'll be there to back me up if anything goes wrong."

That, at least, seemed to reassure him a little. "Okay, if you're sure."

She cocked her head to the side. "Are you worried about me?"

He hesitated for a moment. "You're not an agent," he repeated. "You don't have the training we do for situations like these."

She smiled, reading between the lines. "You're concern is touching, Peter, really. But, I can take care of myself. I'm crafty, remember?"

He scoffed. "Yeah, I remember."


	54. Tiles of Fire

Chapter Fifty-Four

Tiles of Fire

Nora excused herself from the office later that evening, needing to get a jump on mastering Pai Gow. While Peter's concern was kind of sweet, she found it a little overwhelming after a while. She understood where he was coming from. Nora wasn't the biggest or strongest, she didn't have any sort of formal training, and there was more than just _her_ life at risk if things went south. But she had done more with less. If things got hairy, she would just have to do what she always did – roll with it, and hope she didn't get shot.

She decided not to hold her breath that a gun wouldn't get aimed at her – so far, she was five for five, where their big cases were concerned. At that point, it was basically par for the course. At least her last two cases hadn't had a body count.

Out on the busy New York streets, Nora pulled out her phone while she walked. Mozzie answered on the first ring. "Hey, Moz," she greeted.

"What's up?"

"What do you know about Pai Gow?"

"Um, _everything_." Nora's brow furrowed in confusion. _Since when_? "Why?"

"I'm going undercover and I need to learn to play," she explained. "Well, _Natalie_ is going undercover." She couldn't keep a note of bitterness out of her voice.

"Wait, the suit knows about Natalie?"

She laughed. "Don't worry, Natalie was granted full immunity."

This seemed to surprise him. "They must really be desperate."

"This one's… bad." She was silent for a moment. "Anyway, I'm on my way home. Meet me as soon as you can, okay?" He agreed, and she hung up.

Back home, Nora didn't have to wait long. He showed up with a DVD and set of dominoes, and helped himself to a glass of wine while she set up the DVD player. "What is that?" she asked, looking at the label, but it was in Chinese. Nora spoke a lot of languages, but Chinese was not one of them.

"Let's call it an educational video," he said vaguely. She raised an eyebrow. "It'll teach you everything you need to know." That explanation didn't exactly inspire confidence.

They settled in, and the 'educational video' began. Nora found she wasn't too surprised when it turned out to be a cheesy, horribly-dubbed Chinese film centered around the game Pai Gow, apparently titled Tiles of Fire. Nora tried to give it the benefit of the doubt, but an hour in, and she had learned nothing.

She sighed. "I asked you to teach me the game," she reminded him. "This movie is terrible."

Mozzie ignored her. "Wait, shh." He watched the TV, eyes wide with enthusiasm. On the screen, a group of men sat around the table.

A man with an eye patch, Li Kang, grinned. "Let's take this to the next level."

The hero, a farmer's son whose name Nora forgot, leaned forward, removing his sunglasses slowly, which he had been wearing inside despite the dim lighting. "You took it to the next level… when you killed my family."

"Your wager, then?" Li Kang asked.

"One hundred grand."

Mozzie was engrossed, but Nora let her mind wander. "How did they know about Natalie Halden?" she wondered aloud, bemused.

"Shh!" Back on the screen, Li Kang was taunting the hero. Mozzie glanced over, noticing Nora's sour expression, and sighed. "Let's be honest," he said, "Nat was not your best work. She's no Susan Tabernacle."

Nora grinned. "Sue was a good woman."

"Sue _is_ a good woman," Mozzie amended. "Besides, you should be more concerned with what the man with the ring wants."

Nora sighed. "I don't know. I've stolen a lot of stuff in my lifetime."

Mozzie thought for a moment. "Maybe… Poe's Tamerlane book?"

"No," she decided, "sold that a while back." She racked her brain. "The Tamayo painting."

Mozzie made a face. "Not worth all this."

"Washington's love letters."

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Seriously, I don't even know why you stole that in the first place." She gave him a withering look. Of all the many things she'd stolen, that was the one Mozzie loved to give her a hard time about. "Marth-" he began, preparing to launch into his tried and true tangent. Then the screen caught his attention. "Oh! Oh, this is my favorite part."

The farmer boy grinned. "Too rich for your blood, Li Kang?"

The villain leaned in. Nora caught Mozzie out of the corner of her eye, mouthing the words as the man on screen said them. "I believe it is your blood that will make me rich, _farmer boy_." This was followed by an overdramatic sinister laugh.

They started doing something with the tiles, and Nora leaned forward, now paying attention. "Okay, what are they doing now?"

"Oh, they're drawing from the wood pile," he explained. "With these titles, they make two hands." They watched for a moment. "Oh, oh, wait! Wait! Shh, shh." The hero flipped over a tile with a strange symbol and all the men around the table gasped. "He just played the death tile."

Nora's brow furrowed. "Death tile?" she asked, incredulous.

"Well… the movie takes a few liberties."

"Then _why_ are we watching it?" she snapped.

"It's a cult classic." Nora sighed, fed up of the dumb movie, and paused it. Mozzie rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. What do you have to do?"

"Fold above the bank," she explained. "If I get a better hand than the dealer and then throw it away, Lao knows I'm a prospect."

"Okay," he said slowly. He dug through the pile of dominoes on the table. "Well, ideally, you want something like this." She glanced at the tiles he pulled aside. "These are some of the best tiles you can get. You trash a hand like this and you're in. It's like folding pocket aces." That, she understood.

"Alright," she agreed. "Then, let's practice."

"All you have to do is lose," he reminded her. "You want to practice losing?"

"No, I have to win first, then lose." She gave him a pointed look. "Keep up."

Before he could respond, June's voice came from the doorway. "I thought you two might like something to eat," she announced, setting a tray of brownies down on the coffee table.

"Thanks, June," they said together, smiling warmly up at her. Nora helped herself happily.

"What'cha watching?" she asked, catching a glimpse of the screen, still paused.

"Tiles of Fire," Mozzie said.

"Oh! Part one?" Nora stared up at her, confused.

"Part two's up next!" _Of course it is…_

June looked ecstatic. "Ah-ha! Don't start without me!" She bustled out, and Nora grinned after her. The grin faded once June was out of sight.

Nora turned to Mozzie. "There's a sequel?" she asked in dismay.

"Five."


	55. Mei Shi Lin

Chapter Fifty-Five

Mei Shi Lin

After a long night watching progressively worse sequels to Tiles of Fire with an overly enthusiastic Mozzie and June, Nora finally learned the game of Pai Gow well enough that she was confident enough for the undercover job. She spent the rest of her night catching up with Natalie, preparing to step back into character. That was the fun part of aliases. You got to be whoever you wanted or needed to be, pretend to be anyone else except who you really were. They came with a lot of homework, however. If you weren't careful, if you forgot a single detail, the alias could be burned.

Despite Mozzie's insistence that Natalie wasn't Nora's best work, she had a fondness for Nat. More so than any of her other aliases. It had been her first, after all. The fact that she'd managed to keep Nat from being burned for so long was actually somewhat remarkable. She'd been born in 2002, celebrating her seventh birthday some time in the summer.

At the office, bright and early the next day per Peter's instructions, Nora waited with Lauren and Jones for the team to get started on a case briefing. If she was being honest, this one kind of made her nervous. She's asked Mozzie if he knew anything about Lao during their Pai Gow practice, and what he told her was a bit grim. The man had a dark reputation.

Peter pulled Nora out of her thoughts as he came walking briskly into the conference room. "Good news," he said. "We put word out that Natalie Halden's in town and looking to do business. Lao's people took the bait." He walked around the table to stand in front of the white board before sliding a file toward Nora. "We're sending you in as an investor to his money laundering scheme. Lao's game takes place just off of Mott Street, which means we'll be setting up around the corner."

Nora leafed through the file as he spoke. "At Mei Shi Lin restaurant?" Lauren asked.

"Oof," Jones sighed, "been there. Good dumplings."

"And an even better HQ for our purposes," Peter added. "Family that owns the place are trusted CIs for the bureau. They've had dealings with Lao in the past. We'll monitor the game from the second floor." He regarded them all evenly. "Look, there's an agent missing in all this, so everyone stay sharp." His eyes lingered on Nora as he finished his thought, and she got the impression the warning was more for her than the other two.

They all nodded solemnly, all understanding the gravity of the situation. After going over the plan in full detail, the team packed up to head to Mei Shi Lin to get set up. It was a quiet car ride.

* * *

Nora was unusually quiet in the car on the way to the restaurant, Peter noticed with some concern. Normally, she had the annoying habit to downplay serious situations, her preferred method to keep herself from getting into her own head and stay calm and collected. The fact that she simply stared out the window, jaw set firmly, set Peter on edge. _At least she's taking it seriously_, he allowed.

Peter had been against sending Nora in from the moment Hughes brought it up. He'd insisted that, with her lack of training, she could get killed. But Reese tended to ignore that fact when it came to sending Nora into dangerous situations. They couldn't order her to go undercover, but they could ask. And, Nora being Nora, of course she was going to say yes.

Reese had insisted they needed someone who knew money laundering. Peter had tried – really tried – to get Reese to consider having Nora teach an agent whatever she knew about it, and send someone with training in, but that fell on deaf ears. Reese was adamant they needed someone with experience, which Nora had in spades. If they sent an agent, and that agent was faced with a question they couldn't answer, everything would fall apart.

The part that didn't sit right with Peter about the whole thing was the feeling he got that Reese was treating Nora as expendable. He was unwilling to send another agent in, because then they would have _two _compromised, or even dead, agents if anything went wrong. If they sent Nora and something happened to _her_, well, she was a convict after all. But it was the bureau's responsibility – _Peter's responsibility_ – to keep her safe while she was in their custody.

Peter didn't voice these thoughts to her. He'd done his part, given her the chance to back out if she felt uncomfortable. She was set on going in. That was that. She was an adult, she could make her own decisions. Well, for the most part, anyway.

Besides, any time he brought it up, she would roll her eyes and insist that she was fine, that she could handle herself. She would remind him that she'd lived a plenty dangerous life before getting arrested. If anything happened, she would _roll with it_, as she loved to say. And, he had to admit, she was the master of thinking on her feet.

They came to a stop outside Mei Shi Lin, Lauren and Jones in the car behind them parking nearby. The four grabbed equipment out of the trunks of the cars and headed in. Mr. Twan, the owner of the restaurant met them inside and led them to the apartments upstairs.

"The FBI is truly grateful for your help, Mr. Twan," Peter said as they made their way down a narrow hall.

Mr. Twan stopped outside apartment 2B and turned to face Peter. "I just want Lao out of the neighborhood," he sighed. "He's been taking from my business for years, and with my own debt piling up, I can hardly afford to be in his."

"I understand," Peter said softly.

Mr. Twan turned to unlock the door, but froze, turning to Peter once more. "Look, I too am grateful for your help." With that, he unlocked the door and stepped in. Peter stepped aside, letting Nora, Lauren, and Jones go in before him. He watched in confusion as they each took off their shoes in turn, a knot forming in his stomach.

_Oh, God, why did I choose today to wear these socks_?

* * *

Peter was frozen in the doorway, looking down at his shoes. Nora turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Come on," she said quietly, gesturing inside. Everyone was staring at him, unsure why he was acting so weird.

He swallowed hard, taking another moment before kicking off his shoes. Nora couldn't stop herself from laughing. On his feet, he wore powder blue socks with pictures of cute little puppies on them. "Are those standard FBI issue?" she asked, unable to help herself.

"They were a gift from Elizabeth," he snapped.

"One that keeps on giving," she joked. With a huff, Peter stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

They began setting up the equipment in the limited space. "We tried to make room," Mr. Twan offered.

"It's perfect," Peter assured him. He moved to grab a piece from a case Lauren had opened, and was surprised when a small hand snatched out from under his own. "Hey! Hey!" A small girl grinned up at him, holding her prize triumphantly.

"Apologies," Mr. Twan laughed as the girl giggled. "My daughter, Bai." She said something in Chinese.

Peter was uncomfortable, Nora noticed as he tried to smile down at the girl. "Uh, hi there," he said lamely. "I'm gonna need that back, okay?" Slowly, he reached down and plucked it from her hand. "There, thank you."

Bai started crying. They were crocodile tears, but very convincing for a little girl. Mr. Twan spoke to her softly, trying to sooth her, while Peter stared, lost and confused.

"Peter," she scolded, "what are you-"

"What do you mean?" he protested before she could finish her sentence. "I just grabbed the-"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you have a business card?" Peter pulled one from his pocket, and handed it over. Nora turned to Bai. "Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay."

The girl looked up, no longer sobbing. Nora smiled at her. "Ready? Watch this?" She held the card out. "Ready? One, two, three!" On three, she did a slight of hand to make the card 'disappear' with a small flourish. "Where'd it go?" Bai grinned. "Where'd it go?"

Nora paused. "Wait a second… is it right here?" She pulled it out of Peter's breast pocket. Bai erupted in giggles, and Peter stared in confusion.

"How silly," Mr. Twan laughed.

Nora handed Bai the card. "There you go."

"Xiexie," she said softly, thanking Nora in Chinese with a small bow before Mr. Twan led her into the other room.

Nora smiled after her. "You know," Peter said, eyeing her suspiciously, "every time I see you do that, I check for my wallet." For emphasis, he felt his jacket pocket. With a straight face, Nora pulled the wallet out of her own pocket, offering it back.

Peter snatched it away with a huff of annoyance. "Alright, let's get you suited up."

* * *

Nora found Peter downstairs in the restaurant after changing. She chose a sleek red dress with a generous slit up the side, paired with tall black heels. Her hair was flowing loose behind her shoulders, and a pair of diamond earrings kindly loaned from June dangled from her ears. The anklet knocked uncomfortably against her leg.

"Game starts in ten," Peter reminded her. "You review the building layout?"

She nodded once. Of course she'd done her homework on this one. "Camera surveillance, electronic pass code… it's standard stuff."

"Any questions."

She thought about this for a moment. "Just one," she decided. "Where did Elizabeth get those socks, because Chrismas is coming up soon-"

"Enough," Peter snapped, cutting her off.

She took a breath. _You never let me have any fun_. "There is one small problem."

"What?"

Instead of answering, she lifted her left leg in front of her a couple inches.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You know, I think it really brings the outfit together," he joked, turning to Lauren. "Don't you?" Lauren smirked.

"Ha ha. Seriously, Peter." Peter pulled a bundle out of his pocket and unwrapped it. A gold watch glittered in the restaurant's dim lighting. She grabbed it, examining it for a moment. "Wow. That's a really nice fake." It was actually very convincing.

"It's more concerned with telling us where you are than telling time," he admitted. "We deactivated your anklet thirty seconds ago." Sure enough, when Nora glanced down, the usual green light was off. "Lauren, if you'll do the honors."

Nora slipped the watch on, making sure it was snug and secure as Lauren came around to stand by her. "Be gentle."

"Yeah, I've never really been the gentle type," she admitted, roughly grabbing Nora's leg and heaving it onto a chair.

"Alright, there's a GMS transmitter inside," Peter explained as Lauren started cutting through the tracker's band with a pair of scissors. "It's one way, but we'll be able to hear everything that happens."

She held it up to her mouth. "Everything?" she whispered.

Peter looked at her sternly. "Lao is dangerous, Nora," he insisted. "We're pulling you at the first sign of trouble."

"Fine," she agreed. She hadn't really expected any less. "As long as I don't draw the death tile." The look on Peter's face as she walked away was priceless.

"There's a death tile?"


	56. Natalie

Chapter Fifty-Six

Natalie

Nora walked through the crowded Chinatown streets with confidence, with purpose. She ducked down an alley, spotting the red door that marked the entrance to the underground casino, eyes casing over everything. She smirked up at the security camera for a moment before checking the time on her watch. If she was being honest, knowing Peter was on the other end, having her back, was reassuring.

An orange light winked on the keypad next to the door, and she entered the pass code she'd memorized. The orange changed to green, and she tried the door. Unlocked, as expected. Despite the unassuming exterior of the building, the inside was lavishly decorated.

As she walked, a man with a clipboard stepped forward. "Halden," she told him. "Natalie Halden." He ran his finger down his paper, and apparently found her name, as he offered her a basket to put her things in while she stepped through the metal detector. She placed the watch, as well as her purse in the basket and stepped through. On the other side, she held her arms out at her sides and the man ran a wand over her briefly.

After a quick glance through her purse, he gave her her things back, and she was all set. She offered him a kind smile, and made her way in. "Halden's golden," she muttered to the watch, decided to make sure Peter knew what was going on.

A cloud of smoke hung in the air as Nora lingered around, casually raking over every detail of the room. Elegantly dressed people, men and women alike, mingled around tables, sipping on expensive drinks and watching ongoing games with mute interest.

Nora couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement. It had been too long since Natalie got a chance to make an appearance at an illegal casino. Granted, Nat's game of choice was poker, but she wasn't going to split hairs. _Focus_, Nora reminded herself. _This is work, not pleasure_.

She walked up to the table as the man who had been playing walked off. The dealer looked up at her. She took the man's place. "How you doing?" she asked. He didn't answer, didn't smile, just stared at her. She grinned. "Don't get 'em wet, don't feed 'em after midnight, right?" He didn't seem amused. "Never mind."

She could feel the eyes of the curious crowd on her as the dealer arranged the tiles. She reviewed the rules of the game once more in her mind, quickly. "Yung sing," a woman's voice said next to her. She glanced to the side, seeing a hand offering a drink. The woman who owned the hand smiled cordially down at her. "It's a toast. 'Drink and win.'"

She took the drink. "Yung sing." She knocked it back, scrunching her face slightly in distaste. It was stronger than she'd thought it would be. The woman took a seat. "One down," Nora said, "one to go."

The dealer dealt the tiles. They played several hands, Nora taking those that she could win, and folding on those she couldn't. She waited for the right hand, the pocket aces.

Once more, the dealer passed out the tiles. Nora glanced over her hand as he laid down his hand. "Eight and seven," the woman said. "Nice hand."

"I'm out." She laid down her own hand, and eyed the dealer pointedly.

"You could have won," the woman said. If she was surprised, her eyes did not betray her.

Nora considered this for a second. "There are more important things than winning." She noticed two men behind the dealer start whispering. One of the men disappeared. A moment later, the man from the picture on the white board appeared. Lao.

He took the dealer's spot. "You folded on a good hand, Miss…?"

She smiled at him. "You know who I am. And you know why I'm here."

"For a woman of your reputation, Miss Halden, it took some time for you to find the hand you needed."

"Pai Gow isn't my game," she admitted smoothly.

"What _is _your game?"

"Perhaps we should discuss that in private," she suggested.

He smiled, casting a glance at the woman. "We have time for that," he decided. "Another hand?"

She returned his smile. "I'm always in for one more game."

"Good, good."

Lao dealt the tiles. The crowd had grown around them. As he sorted through the tiles, Nora cast a sideways glance at the woman, wondering who she was in all of this. The woman caught her looking, and Nora offered a friendly smile.

Before she knew what was happening, one of Lao's men was pointing a gun at her. Her stomach dropped. "Cops!" someone shouted, and the crowd scattered like rats.

Nora took a breath. "They're not with me," she said calmly, eyes flashing between Lao and the gun in her face.

Lao regarded her coolly. "I don't believe in coincidence."

"Maybe you should," she insisted.

"NYPD," she heard a man shout from somewhere behind her. "Stay where you are!"

The woman stood. "Lao, let's go." He held Nora's gaze. Finally, he stood. The man with the gun followed his boss, leaving Nora in a sticky situation with NYPD swarming in. There was chaos around her as patrons scrambled to find an exit.

She stood, spinning around to assess the situation. "Hands on the table," a cop ordered, coming down the hall. "Everyone down. Down!" _Not likely_, she thought stubbornly. _I need to keep this cover_. "We _will_ shoot." That complicated things.

Once more, Nora found guns pointed at her. Two cops in full tactical gear stood several feet away. She swallowed hard, mind racing to find a plan. _Any _plan. Her eyes fell on the table. _Well, that _is_ a plan_.

In a flash, she heaved the table top off its pole and flipped it on its edge before the cops had time to react. She'd just barely ducked behind it before they recovered from the surprise and opened fire. She could feel reverberations in the wood as bullets made contact with her impromptu shield. She stayed covered, rolling it with her as she moved through the room.

"Shots fired," she could hear one of the officers calling into his radio. "White female, approximately five-and-a-half feet, red dress, heading out of the building."

Once in the hallway, away from the cops for a moment, she dropped the table and bolted into the nearest door. It led to a kitchen. She ran through, turning the heads of confused chefs. She ducked out a back door just before cops bust through a door on the opposite side of the room.

"I'm trying to save my cover here, guys," she huffed into the watch. She came out in a Chinese restaurant. "I'm getting a little tired of being chased, Peter." She booked it out the front door, onto the street. "Call the cops off me."

She slowed to a walk. Nothing looked more suspicious in a crowd than someone running. Up ahead, she saw two uniformed officers heading her way. She turned toward a food truck, hiding her face from view. They walked past.

She turned to continue back the way she'd been heading, only to find herself face to face with Lao's men. They saw her, and began pushing their way through the crowd toward her. She stared, not sure whether she would rather risk her luck with them or the police officers.

However, before she could make a decision, the woman appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and stopped them. "It's okay," she told them. "Lao says to let me handle it." They shared a look among each other, but let it go, turning to head back the other way.

Nora met eyes with the woman and was silent for a long moment, heart pounding. "Have I thanked you for that drink?"

The woman smirked. "No."

"Remind me to."

"Lao knows why you folded back there. He respects it." _Well, at least my cover's safe_. "Come with me and you can complete your business."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "Is he gonna point any more guns at me?"

She laughed a little. "You'll be fine," she assured. "Trust me."

'Trust me.' Always the most reassuring thing to hear. But, this was what they needed. Sure, the way they got there had been a bit unorthodox, but if the end result was the same, so be it. "Then lead the way."


	57. Interpol

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Interpol

Peter returned to Mr. Twan's apartment, feeling about ten years older than when he'd left. He'd finally managed to calm down some, after seeing that Nora managed to stay safe, cover intact – despite the earlier fiasco.

That situation had been exactly what Peter had feared going in – well, except for the part where NYPD stepped in and bungled the whole operation. He'd had a bad feeling from the start about sending Nora in. They knew how Lao operated. Nora could have been killed. She may have made some mistakes in her life, but she didn't deserve that.

"Looks like they're headed to a hotel off Mulberry," Jones said immediately as Peter closed the door behind him. He and Lauren looked as run-down and grim as he felt.

"Caffrey doesn't leave Chinatown, then neither do we," Peter decided. "Jones, I want two of our guys positioned in the front and rear of the place. Once that's settled, find out what the _hell_ happened back there." Jones nodded, pulling out his phone to make arrangements. "Get the NYPD call logs, for starters. I'm not buying this coincidence at all."

"Who is this girl?" Lauren asked, typing away at her laptop.

"That's what you're going to find out."

She raised an eyebrow. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Plenty of traffic cams in the area," he decided. "Have NYPD pull a photo from one of those."

With a sigh, Peter pulled out his own phone and stepped away. It didn't ring long before El picked up. "Another all-nighter?" she guessed.

"I married a perceptive woman."

"And I married a predictable man," she countered. "Alright, so no dinner tonight. How about lunch tomorrow?"

"That sounds great."

El was silent for a moment. "What did Nora do now?" If he hadn't been so tense, he might have laughed.

"Nothing," he admitted. "Yet."

"You know, I wouldn't worry too much about her. She respects you, you know."

He smiled despite himself. "I think you're overselling our bond a little bit." And what Nora might do off anklet, while concerning, wasn't his most pressing worry. He was a little more worried about what might happen to her.

"I don't. Good luck." Peter hung up, praying she was right.

* * *

The woman led Nora to a hotel on Mulberry Street. It was an expensive one, too, what Nora expected from someone like Lao. Apparently, arrangements had already been made, as they didn't stop in the lobby to check in, instead heading directly to the elevator. They didn't speak until the woman unlocked the door and they stepped inside.

"Nice place," Nora noted, taking in the tasteful décor. "When will Lao be joining us?"

"He won't be."

Nora spun around, confused. "Then what are we doing here?"

"He told me to stay the night with you."

Nora glanced over her shoulder. "There's only one bed."

"I wasn't planning on sleeping," the woman said flatly. Nora didn't respond, just watched the woman with scrutinizing eyes as she turned away. "Let me get you a drink. Lao says I should keep an eye on you until we can arrange another meeting." She started pouring a drink at the bar.

"What are we doing until then?"

"Relax," the woman suggested. "Have a drink."

As tempting as that was, Nora shook her head. "I'm good for now."

The woman smirked. "It's not drugged or poisoned." To prove her point, she took a sip herself. Still, Nora passed. "Why don't you just relax?" To Nora's surprise, the woman grabbed her wrist, the one with the watch. "Let's start with this," she said, pulling the watch off.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you off the clock." Now with the watch, the woman walked back to the bar. She poured the rest of the drink down the sink, and before Nora realized what she was doing, smashed the watch with the glass.

A lump formed in Nora's throat. _Peter…_ "Hey!" she protested, even though it was too little too late. "That was an expensive-"

"-Fake?" The woman pulled a gun. Nora's words died in her throat, and she swallowed hard. She raised her hands as the woman walked casually toward her, gun leveled at Nora's chest.

"I am really tired of guns being pointed at me tonight," she huffed.

The woman's face was an unreadable mask. "Natalie Halden isn't the kind of woman who would wear a fake watch." She paused, staring Nora hard in the eyes. "_Nora Caffrey_ on the other hand..."

Nora smirked despite the situation, raising an eyebrow. "You know who I am?"

She shrugged. "You've been on our watch list for years."

Nora's brow furrowed. "Gonna have to be more specific, hon. I've been on so many, it's kind of hard to keep track."

She rolled her eyes. "Interpol."

That wasn't what Nora was expecting. Her grin dropped slowly. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

She paused for a moment, thinking, and slowly lowered her gun. "My name is Meilin."

Nora lowered her hands. "Why is Interpol interfering with an FBI investigation?"

"It's the other way around," Meilin snapped.

Things suddenly started making sense. The sudden appearance of NYPD hadn't been a coincidence at all. "You called the cops."

"And _you_ screwed everything up by impressing Lao with your fancy table tricks," she sighed. "Now I'm stuck with you."

"I'll try not to take that personally," Nora joked.

Meilin rounded on her, apparently in no mood for jokes. "If you take Lao, we'll never get his boss. He's a much bigger fish." _Boss_? That was the first she was hearing of Lao's boss.

"Yeah, I get it. Turf war. So why are we here?" She gestured idly around the room.

"You're gonna let Lao walk," Meilin explained simply, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

Nora bit out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, I don't know if you heard, but the FBI and I are kinda like this-" she crossed her fingers pointedly, "-these days. I can't flip on them."

Meilin raised an eyebrow. "You can botch the deal." She cocked her head to the side, eyes wide and innocent-looking. "Besides, you help me, I'll make sure you get the one thing you want most."

Nora smirked. "What, a new watch?"

"Kyle."

_Kyle_. The word rang in her ears. Her smiled dropped. "What do you know about Kyle?" she demanded, voice low.

"I know where he is."

"So do I," Nora lied. "I want the man who's got him."

"I can help you with that."

Nora's head buzzed with chatter, her pulse pounding in her ears as she tried to think. She wasn't sure how much she trusted this Interpol agent, but her desire to find Kyle, to figure out what the man with the ring wanted, clouded everything. "I think I'll take that drink now."

It was a long, sleepless night for Nora.

* * *

Peter woke slowly, sunlight streaming through the windows. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he stretched his sore neck. Lauren glanced away from the computer to look at him, eyes glassy. "Oh, damn," he muttered, putting a hand to his forehead. _How did I let myself fall asleep?_ "I told you to wake me if I drifted off."

"Come on, Boss," she sighed, "you needed a break."

He pushed himself up. "Anything happen?"

"Nope."

With a sigh, he rubbed his temples. "How long have I been out?"

"About half an hour." Well, at least it wasn't too long, then.

"Okay. Get some rest. I'll take over."

She didn't argue with that. "'Kay." She stood to grab her jacket.

Peter noticed very suddenly that his left foot was cold. He glanced down, wiggling his toes. The sock was missing. "What happened to my sock?"

"I don't know. I was watching the monitor, remember?" She left without another word. Peter stood and started looking around for his missing sock. He saw a pair of big brown eyes peering around the corner.

"Did you steal my sock?" She just blinked at him. "You're a little klepto, aren't you?" he accused. No response. "Yeah." He moved to sit down, and she took the seat next to him. "You have no idea what I'm saying, do you? No. Keep that up, you'll end up like Nora… You _don't _want that, trust me."

Now, with no one who could really understand what he was saying, Peter started to vent his feelings about his CI. "She's unreliable. She never listens to you. And she always gets herself in trouble." He sighed. "I mean, it's not like I'm worried about her. I just feel responsible. Anything happens to her, I'll have a lot of paperwork to fill out. Paperwork's a hassle. _Nora's_ a hassle." He smiled despite himself. "But then again, that was a neat card trick, huh?"

Unexpectedly, Bai smiled and waved over Peter's shoulder. "Nice to know I'm appreciated," that all too familiar, silky smooth voice said from behind. Peter's blood ran cold. _How is she always so quiet_?

He spun around, hoping not to look too surprised. She was leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyebrow arched. He also noticed she looked tired, dark circles under her eyes giving away that he and Lauren hadn't been the only ones to pull an all-nighter.

"I knew you were there," he insisted.

She cocked her head to the side, not buying it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You also know that she speaks perfect English?" she asked, nodding to Bai.

Peter rounded back on the little girl. "You're weird." She giggled, and ran off.

"I want my sock back," Peter called after her, still confused. He set his eyes on his CI. "You're a bad influence." She shrugged, not too concerned, and took Bai's spot in the chair next to him. "How'd you get here?"

"I, uh, caught a lift with one of the G-men you put in front of the hotel."

Peter looked at her skeptically. "I told those guys to call me if they saw you."

She shrugged. "I told them not to bother you. You get a little cranky if you don't get your beauty sleep." He rolled his eyes, but let it slide.

There were more important things to discuss. "What happened to the watch?"

She held up her wrist, examining it. It was cracked, Peter could see. "Oh, uh, I must have banged it up during the chase." _Bullshit_. "When did it cut out?"

"While you were in the hotel room," he told her pointedly.

"Oh, well, at least you only missed the boring stuff, then," she laughed, handing over the broken watch. Peter heard the door open and close, and glanced over his shoulder. Jones came into sight a moment later, sipping on a cup of coffee. _And he brought enough for the whole class_, he thought, spying the drink carrier with two extra cups in his hand.

Peter studied the watch. _Banged it up in the chase, my ass. _"So? Can she make the meet happen?"

Nora nodded. "She'll contact me with the time and place." She leaned forward and clapped Peter on the shoulder before standing to go help herself to a cup of coffe.

"Jones, if you'll do the honors?"

The agent spun around and whistled quickly, holding a fresh new anklet.

Lauren came back in, despite Peter's orders to go get some rest. "Hey, uh, NYPD traced their tip off on the game to a cell phone registered to a Miss Meilin Wan."

Jones paused in putting Nora's new tracker on. "Same girl Caffrey had a sleepover with last night." He grabbed a photo and held it up for Peter to see. Lauren took it.

It certainly looked like news to Nora. "You sure about that?" _Looks can be deceiving_.

Lauren studied the photo. "Yeah, that's from a traffic cam a block away at the exact time a call was placed. A carrier company lists the hostess bar on Canal as the place of business." She handed the photo on over to Peter.

"I want to check it out," he decided. "I'm curious why Miss Meilin wants to call the cops on Lao's game, especially if she wants to keep your deal alive." All eyes fell on Nora, who stood there looking blankly ahead. "You got a problem with that?"

She shrugged. "Let's go. _After_ I changed out of this dress, of course."

"Of course," Peter agreed, rolling his eyes.


	58. Bumbling Peter Burke

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Bumbling Peter Burke

It was a short walk to the address listed on Meilin's cellphone plan. Peter, Lauren, and Nora walked in silence. Every so often, Nora caught Peter shooting wary glances her way, perhaps trying to gauge her mood. She betrayed nothing.

They rounded a corner to find a group of four beautiful, young Chinese women standing on the sidewalk, smoking and chatting in Chinese. "Looks like they're on break right now," Peter observed. "Any thoughts on how to approach this one?" He didn't give her very long to think. "No? Isn't this the part where you say you should try staring a conversation by talking about… shoes or something?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Shoes?" He shrugged. "Besides, I can't go in there, it will blow my cover."

He couldn't argue with that. He sighed, glancing between Nora and the group of women, face taking on a smug expression. "Guess I'll have to show you how it's done." Nora smirked, amused by his sudden confidence.

Without another word, he made his way toward the women. Nora and Lauren watched, equally curious about what Peter was planning. "Hello," he said weakly, drawing their attention as he held up his badge. "Agent Burke, FBI. I wanna ask you a few questions about one of your co-workers, Miss Meilin Wan."

It was as if a floodgate was opened. All at once, they began shooting off in rapid-fire Chinese as Peter stuttered and shifted uncomfortably. "Uh… One at a time, please. Does… does anyone know where she is right now?"

Nora watched in amazement. It was worse than she could have imagined. She glanced back at Lauren, who seemed just as bewildered as Nora was. "That's the same guy who caught me, right?"

"That's the guy who caught you _twice_," she corrected. Nora rolled her eyes before returning her attention to the floundering Peter.

"Does anyone speak English? Anyone?" He held up his hands in defeat. "You know, okay, alright." He started backing away. "Alright, thank you. Thanks very much." They waved after him cheerfully.

Nora smirked as he came to a stop in front of them. "So, that's how it's done, huh?"

He grinned, eyes glittering as he held up a tape recorder. "Yeah, that's how it's done." She couldn't help but laugh. It was surprisingly devious for the man. "Amazing what someone is willing to say when they don't think that you can speak the language, isn't it?" He handed the recorder over to Lauren. "Have a translator meet us at the office. Let's see what they were saying behind the back of the bumbling FBI agent."

* * *

Nora had been remarkably quiet after returning to the office. After going over in depth what had happened after the watch had cut out, she had returned to her desk. Despite offering plenty of details, Peter couldn't help but get the feeling she was still hiding something.

But that was just Nora, wasn't it? Peter wouldn't be surprised if she was keeping a half dozen different secrets from him at any given time. But this time, there was an agent's life at stake. It wasn't the time for lies or hidden agendas.

Peter stayed in his office, replaying their conversation over in his mind, trying to pick out anything that seemed suspicious or out of place, but just couldn't seem to put his finger on it. With a sigh, he went to check on Lauren in the conference room, who was supposed to be sitting with the translator.

Lauren was there, working on a laptop, alone. "Where's the translator?"

"Won't be here for another hour."

"Ah, damn it." He sighed in frustration, taking the chair next to her. "Alright, let her run. Maybe we can pick up a name, at the very least."

Lauren pressed play. They listened, but it might as well have been gibberish. "Catch anything?" Lauren asked.

"Not so much." They kept listening, but it was useless. "Where are subtitles when you need them?"

A soft giggling came from the doorway. Bai, with her big brown eyes, grinned up at him. "Someone called you a bad name."

Jones came running in. "There you are." He waved at Peter apologetically. "Sorry about that. We're, uh, taking Victor's statement, and I guess she heard your voice." He put a hand on Bai's shoulders. "Alright, let's go."

_She speaks Chinese and English…_ "Hold on. Got an idea." They set Bai up in Lauren's chair with a notepad and pencil. The headphones were too big for her tiny head, and it had a somewhat comical effect.

"I need you to listen to what the women are saying, and write it down in English," Peter explained. "Do you think you can do that?"

She nodded, and Peter played the recording. She listened intently, writing as they went. "These ladies are mean," she noted. "And they think you're stupid."

"Leave that out."

* * *

Peter called Nora to his office a while after their conversation. She passed Mr. Twan and Bai on her way up, offering them a smile as she went. Bai waved enthusiastically. Peter and Jones were already waiting when she walked in.

"We got the translation," Peter explained, handing her a transcript as she took her usual seat. She read over it quickly. "There's not a whole lot there. Something about Meilin working the night shift. Place called Red Lantern." Peter paused. "Where do I know that from?"

Jones started flipping through files. "It could be a club or a restaurant."

Nora considered the name for a moment. "Could be a sun burnt super hero." Peter didn't look amused. "It's a waste, Peter. Following Meilin's not getting us any closer to Lao or Costa."

"Found it," Jones announced. _Of course you did_. "Red Lantern Exports. Looks like Costa suspected it was a shell company for Lao. That's what he was looking into before he disappeared." He handed the file to Peter. Nora's stomach twisted into knots. That didn't sound good at all.

Peter glanced over it quickly. "So, she had a part-time job at a warehouse. That's an eclectic resume." He raised an eyebrow. "Still wasting our time?"

Before Nora could answer, there was a knock on the door. Lauren glanced in, face grim. "Jones, look up that address for me." He sat the file back on the table and followed Lauren.

Nora watched him go, but they stepped too far away for her to overhear. It would have been suspicious if she left as well, so she stayed where she was, chatting with Jones as he typed away at Peter's computer.

A moment later, Peter returned. He didn't look happy. "Jones, any progress on that address?"

"Working on it," he assured Peter.

Peter didn't respond. He was busy casting suspicious glances at Nora. She looked back at him innocently. _He knows – or thinks he knows – something._ "I promised El I would have lunch with her. Let's reconvene in an hour."


	59. The Red Lantern

Chapter Fifty-Nine

The Red Lantern

Peter caught El up to speed as they walked, eating a quick lunch from a hot dog stand due to his limited time. "She's Interpol," he concluded with a heavy sigh.

"Oh, do you think Nora knows?"

He scoffed. "Well, she spent six hours alone with her in a room," he reminded her. "She knows."

She shrugged lightly. "Maybe she was keeping her cover," she offered, still choosing to try and err on the side of optimism. Peter raised an eyebrow, incredulous. _Do you really believe that_? She couldn't keep a straight face long. "Okay, she knows."

"She's playing me." He didn't know why he was so surprised. That's what happened when you worked with criminal types, after all.

Elizabeth considered this for a moment. "Well, there's really only one reason why she would keep something from you." Sometimes, El's boundless optimism amazed Peter, even after ten years.

"Just one?" He stopped, and El spun around to face him. If he had to guess, there were thousands of reasons Nora would lie or keep secrets. It was in her nature. It was who she was. _But I know what El means_. "Kyle."

She nodded, mouth pressed into a hard line. "What are you going to do?"

It was a question Peter didn't have an answer for. He sighed, finishing the rest of his hot dog as he thought. "The only thing I _can _do is keep an eye on her, and hope she makes the right choice."

* * *

Jones had the address by the time Peter returned from lunch. Peter ran over the file Jones had pulled together briefly before he decided there was no time like the present to check it out. He grabbed Nora, who had been sitting at her desk, doodling. _Keep and eye on her and hope she makes the right choice_, he reminded himself.

They cased the building from the car for a while after arriving at the address. It was nondescript, a little run down. There were no cars parked outside, nothing to suggest it was being guarded. That made Peter's job easier. "Come on, let's take a look," Peter suggested, already getting out of the car. Nora followed without a word.

They found a door on the side, hidden from view of the road. After making sure there was no one around, Peter tried it. Locked, of course. He turned to Nora. "Pick that for me."

She looked at him quizzically. "Don't we need a warrant?"

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. That, from the one who broke into a locked hotel room and stole a painting that Peter never would have legally had access to. _I just don't get her_. "Oh, look at you," he mocked, "law abiding citizen all of a sudden. I got goosebumps." She rolled her eyes. "Agent Costa already filed for one."

"But I don't have my tools."

Of course she didn't, she legally wasn't allowed. Peter had prepared for that. He pulled a lock-pick set out of his pocket. "Well, I got mine," he said, offering them to her.

She took them slowly, eyeing him skeptically before opening the case and examining the tools. She picked one out and knelt in front of the door, looking at the lock for a moment. He watched over her shoulder as she worked, pulling out more picks, moving them with deft precision born of years of practice.

It wasn't long before the lock clicked open. She returned the picks to the case and handed it back to Peter without a word, though she did look a little smug. Peter counted the tools before stowing the case back in his pocket.

They walked slowly through the warehouse, keeping eyes and ears alert. It was massive, shelves upon shelves lined with plastic-wrapped crates. There didn't seem to be any workers, which was good.

As they walked, Nora cased over everything methodically, like she always did. "I think I just saw the Ark of the Covenant back there," she joked.

"If my face melts, let me know." Nora stopped, eyes catching on something. She bent over to examine it, biting her lip. Peter noticed something as well. "Nora." He crouched down, and she joined him.

"Signs of a struggle," she noted.

"Scuff marks." A knot was forming in his stomach. "Looks like someone was dragged right down that way." Her jaw was tight as they followed the trail.

It led to a set of freezers. Something caught Peter's eye. "Blood," he said. He reached for the lid of the freezer, already dreading what he was going to see. Nora's eyes were fixed on the freezer as well, and she took a deep breath. Slowly, he pulled the lid up.

A body was stuffed inside, covered in frost. Nora turned away immediately, covering her mouth with a hand, eyes squeezed shut. "It's Agent Costa," Peter confirmed, stomach sinking to his shoes. They were too late.

He closed the lid, taking a moment to try and calm down before pulling out his phone to call in backup. Before he could dial the number, they were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Nora's eyes snapped open as she spun around toward the noise. They ducked behind a shelf, peering around to get a look.

"Lao's men," she breathed, voice strained. "I didn't see an alarm system."

Peter shook his head. "They're not here for us."

She didn't look to sure. "Then who?"

"Costa." He turned away. "Come on." They hid behind another shelf, and Peter tried his phone. "Oh, come on," he hissed. "No service." _This is bad_. With a sigh, he pulled out his gun. Nora's eyes widened. He noticed she was pale, and her lower lip trembled a little. _Now's not the time for your thing about dead bodies_, he thought bitterly.

She grabbed his wrist. "No! No, what are you-?'

He looked at her incredulously. "What? You got a better idea?" They were getting closer. Her eyes raked over their surroundings, gears turning rapidly in her mind. They settled on the ceiling for a moment. Wordlessly, she pointed up, then motioned to a ladder built into the shelves.

Peter hesitated for a moment, looking back in the direction Lao's men were coming from. Finally, he sighed. "Fine." He holstered the gun. "Climb."

She climbed with surprising grace and agility for someone wearing high heels. _Always the damn heels_. Her movements were fluid and silent, and in the blink of an eye, she was at the top. In comparison, Peter felt like he was loud and bumbling the whole way up. But, considering Lao's men didn't come running, he must have done a good enough job.

They laid down at the top, peering over the edge to watch Lao's men. _God, please don't let them look up_. Peter held on to his gun, just in case.

They had front row seats to watch as Lao's men unceremoniously stuffed Costa's body into a rolling bin, powerless to stop them as they carted him off to God knew where. Once they were out of sight, they started back toward the ground.

Peter huffed in frustration. "I let them walk right out the door," he growled. The chances of them recovering the body had dropped to near zero.

"Would you rather be dead?" Nora asked, voice small.

He rounded on her. "This isn't a game, Nora." Her eyes were still wide, and she still looked nauseous. _I don't care. An agent is dead_. "I think it's time you and I had a little heart to heart.

"About what?"

"Your friend at Interpol." She shifted uncomfortably, too out of sorts to mask it.

Back outside, Peter had her wait by the car as he called in what they had witnessed, giving Jones on the other end as many details as he could as quickly as he could. They would go over it more thoroughly later. As they were finishing up, he heard Nora coughing loudly behind him.

He spun around. No, not coughing. Retching. She was doubled over, still slightly leaning against the car for support. "We'll talk about this more tomorrow, Jones," Peter said quickly, hanging up before Jones could respond.

With a sigh, Peter walked over to Nora, still emptying her stomach. Despite his anger, a small part of him felt bad for her. Gently, he grabbed her hair, which hung down in her face, and pulled it back. After a moment, the retching stopped, and she stood there for a moment, panting.

"Are you okay?"

She stood upright slowly, and nodded once. She didn't look okay at all. Peter opened the car door for her. She sat down gently. Once in the driver's seat, Peter dug through the center console for a moment. He offered her a tissue and breath mint, both of which she accepted wordlessly.

She was silent for a long while, head leaned back, eyes pressed tightly shut. "Sorry about that," she muttered after several minutes.

He scoffed. "I knew death made you uncomfortable, but I didn't realize it was that bad."

"I didn't either," she admitted. "It's just, once we got back to the car, I just started thinking about it, and I couldn't stop..." She shook her head, likely trying to clear the thoughts away. "Thank you."

He didn't respond. She fell silent once more. Without thinking about it, he drove back to his house. Once back, he sent her upstairs to rinse her mouth before they had their heart-to-heart. El looked concerned, but didn't ask, noticing how irritated Peter was.

A few minutes later, Nora returned and sheepishly took a seat on the couch next to Elizabeth.

* * *

Peter paced, which was never a good sign. He shot angry looks at her as he went back and forth, still trying to work out what he wanted to say. Nora glanced at Elizabeth, who sat silently, casting glances between the two of them. "I never lied to Peter," Nora whispered to her, needing to break the uncomfortable silence.

"You did leave a few things out," she reminded her.

"You don't understand. I need to find Kyle. He's in danger."

Elizabeth didn't respond for a moment, eyes jumping over to Peter who stepped forward as if he was ready to say something. He thought better of it, however, and returned to pacing. Elizabeth sighed softly. There was sympathy in her eyes, but her expression was still somewhat stern. "Look, my husband really wants to trust you, but you keep giving him reasons not to." Nora wanted to argue with this, but couldn't find the words. "You're on your own on this one."

She patted Nora's knee once, and stood. "Please," Nora plead, "please, no, stay! Don't go!" She ignored Nora's pleas, heading quickly for the stairs, Satchmo on her heels. Nora was alone with Peter, who was now leaning against the bookshelf, scowling at nothing in particular.

Nora shifted in her seat for a moment. Peter obviously wasn't going to say anything any time soon. "So, what now?" she asked, voice coming out just a hair smaller than she'd hoped.

He didn't look at her. "Now I wouldn't take you off this case if I could."

"I wasn't talking about the case."

He finally turned to meet her eyes. "What did Interpol promise you?" She bit her lip. "Did Meilin promise you Kyle?"

She licked her lips nervously, trying to find the right words. "What was I supposed to do? She said she could find him."

Peter didn't look surprised. "In exchange for what?"

"They want Lao to walk."

"Do you know why?" His voice was low, his anger barely contained. Nora wasn't sure if that was worse than if he had just decided to flat-out yell at her or not.

"They're after his boss."

"Lao doesn't have a boss," Peter said matter-of-factly. He stared at her for a long moment, then scoffed. "You know what this is really about? It's about jurisdiction. If they arrest him on Asian soil, they get additional funding from China's government."

Nora's brow furrowed. "Additional funding?"

"Yeah. Half a million dollars. That's the price of a dead FBI agent." Nora swallowed hard. Peter handed her a file. "You really think you can believe everything she tells you?" Nora sighed, but didn't answer. "We either take down Lao now, or our partnership comes to an end."

She looked up at him, eyes wide. "We're partners?"

He held her gaze firmly. "You tell me."


	60. Playing Both Sides

Chapter Sixty

Playing Both Sides

The taxi ride home was miserable. Nora's stomach was still a little uneasy, and she could still taste bile in the back of her throat despite rinsing her mouth thoroughly at the Burkes' before her talk with Peter. On top of that, she was mad at herself for throwing up in the first place. Looking weak was dangerous in her world. Even if it was just in front of Peter, it still left a bad taste in her mouth.

She was mad at herself for having been taken in by Meilin so easily. _Rookie mistake_, she chided herself. _You know better than that_. But Meilin had said the magic word. Kyle. And, once again, she found that Peter's disappointment – while deserved – somehow stung worse than his anger did.

His words rang in her ears. _We either take down Lao now, or __o__ur partnership comes to an end._ He had never described it as a 'partnership' before, and somehow that felt significant. As if she was a part of the team rather than _just_ a criminal. Is that what he thought? Is that what she wanted?

She didn't have an answer. What she know she wanted was Kyle. She wanted the man with the ring. And, liar or not, Meilin could have been her only lead. But at what cost?

The cab pulled up the curb, coming to a stop at June's. Nora paid the cabbie quickly and made her way in, feeling worn down and weary. She was looking forward to sinking into bed and forgetting her problems for a couple hours.

Unfortunately, she would have no such luck. She found she wasn't too surprised when she walked in to see June and Meilin standing on the balcony. June turned, and paused in whatever she was saying to the woman. "Oh, hello Nora, dear." Her voice was tight, forcing as cheerful a tone as she could. Nora put on a smile as the two women came inside. "I was just having a charming conversation with your friend." She turned to shake Meilin's hand. "It has been wonderful to meet you."

"Likewise, June," Meilin said. "Now that I know you're such a wonderful host, don't be surprised if I stop by again soon." June laughed, glancing between the two of them. June was a hell of an actor when she wanted to be.

She excused herself, giving Nora pointed look. "I would keep an eye on that one," she muttered as she passed.

Meilin crossed the room slowly, and Nora waited until June had disappeared down the stairs before she spoke. "What happened to Costa?" she demanded flatly.

Meilin raised an eyebrow. "What, no small talk?"

Nora glared at her. "I saw a dead FBI agent today. Not in the mood for small talk."

"I'm the reason you found that body," she said pointedly.

Nora scoffed. "You expect me to believe you left a breadcrumb trail on purpose?"

Her eyes softened a little. "Your agent deserved a proper burial." _Oh, how generous of you_, Nora thought snidely.

"Well, he didn't get one," she spat. "Was his cover blown?"

She shrugged. "Lao suspected he was working for a competitor, not a government." Nora nodded once. "You don't believe me."

"Have a pretty good reason not to," Nora reminded her. "You lied to me about why you wanted Lao."

"And?"

"And you're letting a murderer go free to curry political favors. If that sits right with you, then maybe I should rethink our arrangement."

"I'm just doing my job," Meilin snapped, "And right now, my job is to make sure the FBI can't monitor any of Lao's accounts during your meeting tomorrow." She shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me what happens after that."

Meilin turned on her heel and headed for the door. She paused in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. "Oh, Nora?" She smiled sweetly. "The man who's got Kyle? I know who it is." Then she was gone.

And like that, she dangled the carrot over Nora's nose once more. Nora slumped into a chair at the table, running a hand through her hair. _Think about it like a con._ She bit her lip. _How do I play both sides and still get everything I want_?

It was a long night. By the next morning, she thought she had her answer.

* * *

Peter barely spoke to Nora when she made her way into the office the next morning, which honestly suited her just fine. She still hadn't quite sorted through her feelings about their 'heart-to-heart' the night before, and decided she would worry about that after the meeting with Lao.

The team sat through a briefing, ensuring everyone was on the same page. There was little room for error in this one. _We either take down Lao now, or __o__ur partnership comes to an end._ Nora was quiet during the briefing, only speaking when asked direct questions. Based on the looks Peter shot at her, she was sure he noticed.

The time for the meeting was drawing near. They packed up the van and set out. Nora dressed more for business than she had for the Pai Gow game. The van parked a block away from the location Meilin had given her.

"Anklet off," Peter said, turning to show Nora a new watch. "You better not break this one." Nora nodded.

She studied the watch, and crinkled her nose. "This is a men's watch."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sorry," he mocked. "It's the best we could do on short notice." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "You're just going to have to make it work. When they scan you for bugs, manually deactivate the transmitter." He pressed a button. "Press it again, it turns back on." He turned it back on. "And you damn well better turn it back on."

She took the watch. "I will, Peter." _It's all part of the plan_.

"Once you give Lao our account number, we'll be able to scan the dirty money. Between that and the audio from the watch, we'll be able to put the guy away for good."

She nodded somberly. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." His face was even, grim. Despite his frustration with her, she could tell he was still somewhat worried. "Good luck in there." His voice was surprisingly soft. She swallowed hard, nodding once. _Thanks, I'll need it._

With that, she stepped out onto the street and headed up the block. She walked with purpose, confidence. In the building, she was pointed toward an elevator. The doors slid open, and as she stepped in, Meilin came up behind her.

"Do you have the account number?" She nodded, tapping her temple softly. "And you're ready for this?"

Behind her back, she pressed the button on the watch, cutting the transmission. "Ready." _As I'll ever be_. Meilin pressed the button to close the doors, and they slid shut once more with a ding.

"I'm going to give you a new account number to use," Meilin said quickly. "One the FBI can't trace. 1-3-1-2-7-8-8-7-1. Got it?" Nora nodded. "Repeat it to me."

"I got it," Nora snapped.

Meilin arched an eyebrow for a moment, then smirked. "Relax, Nora. It's almost over." That wasn't very reassuring.

They rode the rest of the way up in silence. Meilin led her from the elevator to a bright, sunlit room. Lao and a man Nora presumed was a bodyguard sat at a table, playing Pai Gow as they waited. Several other bodyguards lingered around, standing at attention as Nora and Meilin entered.

They stopped Nora and began patting her down. It was thorough and professional, and quick. Lao stood as Nora and Meilin went over to greet him.

"I apologize for the scene the other night," he said smoothly. "As you know, you can never be too careful."

"I completely understand," Nora allowed graciously. "I think you'll find this to be the beginning of a very rewarding relationship for both of us."

"I hope so. Meilin speaks very highly of you, Miss Halden." _Surprising_. Lao turned and headed back toward the table. A man with a laptop joined them. "The account number, if you please." Nora shot a look at Meilin. The woman's face betrayed nothing.

Nora's eyes raked over the table, spying a couple dominoes. As she leaned over to see the screen, she palmed them. "1-3-1-2-7-8-8-7-1." Meilin eyed her suspiciously, but looked away quickly as Nora met her gaze. _What_? Nora thought, _was that lift not part of your plan_?

There was a moment of silence. All eyes watched the computer screen as the payment processed. A cheerful tone played as the 'TRANSACTION COMPLETE' messaged popped up.

"And just like that, we are partners," Lao said. "We'll contact you in two weeks with your money." He paused, offering a smile. "Minus the ten percent fee, of course."

"Of course," Nora agreed. Nora and Meilin turned to leave. Once out of earshot, Nora stopped. "Alright, I did what you wanted, now tell me who has Kyle," she muttered.

She pressed a flash drive into Nora's palm. "It's all in there." Nora pocketed it. _Now for part two_.

"Hey, Lao," Nora called. "We never got to finish our game." Meilin's eyes flashed with barely contained anger. "I'll make it worth your while. An extra ten percent if you win."

The man grinned. "Very well. Come, lose your money."

She started back to the table. Meilin gabbed her by the wrist. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Oh, I already transferred the money from your account," Nora explained. "Doesn't matter what happens now, right?" She pulled her wrist free and joined Lao.

They played several hands, Nora's practice in losing coming in handy. _Pai Gow just is not my game_. She wondered idly what was going through Peter's head in the van. She should have turned on the transmitter by then.

"One more hand and I'll have all your money," Lao reminded her. "Are you certain you want to go again?"

Nora fidgeted in her seat. "Just to keep things interesting, my watch for yours." She pulled of her watch and held it up to show him. "It was my grandfather's." He smiled, but didn't answer. "Come on, Lao, what's life without a little risk?"

"Why not?" Lao agreed, slipping his own watch off his wrist and placing it on the table. Nora finally switched the transmitter back on. Lao dealt the tiles.

"You look worried," Lao noted as she shuffled the tiles in her hands.

Nora cocked her head to the side. "Do I?" She lifted her glass. "Yung Seng."

"Yung Seng." They drank. And played their hands. Nora lost. "Some days the tiles don't fall the way you want."

"Some days they do," Nora sighed. "At least I lost my watch to a worthy adversary." Meilin reached over to put the watch on Lao's wrist, fixing Nora with a pointed look as she did.

"It appears luck was not on your side today," she said tightly. Nora offered a small shrug. She finally excused herself, making her way back down to the street.

She could hear Lao's voice playing in the van. Peter spun around to look at her. "Anything good on the radio?" she asked, offering a cocky smile.

"We got him." Peter's voice was triumphant, and he was unable to keep a grin off his face.

Nora had played both sides, and managed to get everything she wanted.


	61. Meilin's Reveal

Chapter Sixty-One

Meilin's Reveal

Mr. Twan invited them to have lunch with him in his restaurant the next day so Peter could give him the good news. It was an offer Peter and Nora couldn't turn down. The three of them ate in good spirits.

"He's gone for a long time," Peter assured Mr. Twan after recapping what had happened. "Lao might as well have confessed in front of a grand jury with the hours of transcript we have on him."

"I just want to thank you," Mr. Twan explained, "let you know that you are welcome back here any time." He smiled, glancing between them. "The neighborhood's better off without Lao." That, they could all agree on.

"You know, I think these are the best dumplings I've ever had," Nora told him earnestly. Peter had to agree. They were delicious.

Mr. Twan grinned broadly. "I'll get you some more." He rushed off.

Peter waited until he was gone to turn to Nora. "So. Are you going to tell me what was on that flash drive?" If she was surprised he knew about the flash drive, she didn't show it.

Instead, she sighed heavily, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin before pulling it out of her purse. "You were right." She sat it on the turntable that sat in the middle of the table, and spun it around to him. "It was empty."

He picked it up and studied it. Before he could say anything, Bai walked up, smiling innocently. "Oh no."

"Close your eyes," she ordered.

Peter shot a glance to Nora, who smirked. "Why?" he asked, suspicious. He tucked the flash drive in his breast pocket. _I'll check it out later, _he decided.

Nora rolled her eyes. "Would you just close them?" He sighed, but did as he was asked.

"Open," he heard Bai say a moment later. When he opened them, she was holding his sock up, still smiling sweetly.

"Oh-ho! David Copperfield she ain't." Nora shrugged. He took his sock back. "Xiexie ni." he said with a small bow. She bowed back.

Mr. Twan returned with the dumplings and they finished their lunch happily.

* * *

Nora and Peter returned to the office with full stomachs, the status quo seemingly returned to normal. Their win had put Nora back in Peter's good graces, and she found she was relieved about that. She wasn't sure if that should have worried her or not.

Nora grinned as they stepped off the elevator. "What's next, partner?"

"Don't call me that." She could see him smirking too, and laughed a little as he walked away. She stopped by her desk. Her phone started ringing in her purse, and she dug it out quickly.

She didn't recognize the number. "Hello?"

"Hello, Nora," an all-too familiar voice said on the other end. _Meilin_. Nora glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one was paying particular attention to her as she made her way to her chair.

"Calling to apologize about the empty flash drive?" she spat, voice low.

"That was a necessary precaution," Meilin protested. "I had to be careful with something this sensitive."

Nora's breath caught in her chest. "So you know who has Kyle?"

"I don't have a name, but I know this… He's FBI."

Her blood ran cold in her veins. "How do you know?" she breathed. Meilin didn't answer. "How do you know that?" The line went dead.

Nora felt like her world was crashing down around her. Suddenly, all the faces around her seemed like strangers. Hughes, up in his office. Lauren and Jones, working at their desks…

Peter.

She sank down into her chair, running over every conversation she could remember having with all of them. _He's FBI_. The words rang in her head like the strike of a gong, growing louder and louder each time. _He's FBI!_ _HE'S FBI! __**HE'S FBI!**_

Was it someone she knew, someone she worked with? Or was it one of the countless other agents somewhere else in the building, in the country even? She pushed back a wave of anger that coursed through her.

Whoever it was, they would have to move soon if they planned to get what they wanted from her. When they did, she would be ready for them. She would get Kyle back.

But who? _Not Peter_, she thought adamantly. _It can't be Peter_. For starters, Peter didn't have the ring. Actually, thinking about it, none of them did. They didn't know she had the picture of the man with the ring. They would have no reason to hide it from her. She would have noticed it by then.

That put her mind at ease – somewhat. She would have to talk to Mozzie, as soon as possible. Learning that the man with the ring was FBI narrowed their pool of potential suspects down a lot. There were a finite number of FBI agents, after all.

A lead was a lead. It may not have been what Meilin promised, but it was a start. Until she knew more, it would have to be business as usual. _I'll figure out who you are_, she promised. _If it's the last thing I do, I'll find you_.

Nora finished the rest of the day, numbly filling out her paperwork and sucking down copious amounts of terrible coffee. She offered a numb good night as she left and started walking, willing the fresh air to clear her cluttered mind.

She dialed Mozzie as she walked. "What's up?" he greeted.

"I…" She hesitated. "We got Lao."

"Okay..." He was clearly waiting for more. "Did the lady from Interpol give you the information on the man with the ring?'

She sighed. "The flash drive was empty."

"I'm sorry, Nora," he sighed. "I guess we're back to square one."

"Yeah," she muttered. "I guess so. I just… thought I'd let you know."

"Are you okay?"

_No_. "Yeah. I'll talk to you later." She hung up. _Why did I lie to Mozzie_? She shook her head. She would tell him… eventually. _I just need some time to work though it_, she told herself. _Then I'll bring him into it_.

She wondered if that was really all it was.


	62. Diamond Heist

_Author's Note_

_We're getting toward the end of Handcuffs and High Heels! Free Fall will be the last episode in the story. I'll probably continue on to finish season one with another story. Beyond that, I haven't quite decided. But, I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get there._

_Thanks so much for reading for so long! It's been a lot of fun so far._

_-Selkie_

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Two

Diamond Heist

The storm clouds that had been growing over the past few days finally burst, and a relentless rain cast New York City in a miserable gloom. Mozzie avoided the bad weather, which Nora was grateful for; she hadn't decided to tell him about the man with the ring yet, and figured she would put it off until the weather got nicer again.

At work, it was business as usual. She regarded everyone around her with suspicion, but acted as if nothing had changed. To them, nothing had. Peter was still riding on the high of the Lao takedown, and Nora was able to stay in his good graces easily.

The weather finally cleared up a couple weeks later. She knew she couldn't put off telling him much longer. They met up before Nora needed to be at the office, and she explained the situation while they walked. He didn't seem upset she'd waited so long to tell him, for which she was thankful.

"So the guy who has Kyle is in the FBI?" Mozzie summarized.

"Apparently."

"This confirms _everything_."

Nora sighed, noticing how worked up he was becoming. Of course, he was Mr. Conspiracy Theory after all. "Moz, take it easy."

"You lay down with dogs, you get up with fleas."

She rolled her eyes. "I could live without the fortune cookie commentary."

"Now you understand my fear of the man," he continued, punctuating his words with dramatic points. "You're back with us, my friend. The fearful masses. Welcome back." He paused, glancing over at her. She couldn't help but laugh a little at his paranoia. "Suspects?"

She considered this. "How many field offices does the FBI have?"

"Fifty-six," he said immediately, "not including resident agencies." She wasn't surprised he knew that off the top of his head.

"Then I have a lot of suspects."

"How do we draw him out?"

Her phone started buzzing in her purse. She paused to dig it out as she spoke. "We don't. It's his move." She checked the caller. PETER was displayed in big letters on the screen, and she answered mid-ring, shushing Mozzie quietly. "Morning, Peter."

"Where are you?" he asked lightly, skipping any sort of proper greeting.

"Well within my two mile radius," she assured him, though of course he would already know if she wasn't. "Where are you?"

"I'm at my dining room table," he returned, as if it should have been obvious. "Listen, we've got a suspected jewelry heist."

She grinned. "I'm intrigued."

"Meet me at 14th and 9th in thirty."

She knew that address. "That's Le Joyau Precieux," she noted. It was an extremely upscale boutique. "I'm even more intrigued."

She could hear Peter scoff over the phone. "The most expensive clothing boutique in the city. Of course you'd know it." He laughed a little. "You're gonna love this."

He hung up abruptly. "So what do I do?" Mozzie asked, returning to their previous conversation as Nora slipped her phone back into her purse.

"Nothing," she decided, pointing at him firmly.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. "How about you?"

She sighed. "I suffer through another day of work." Thought, if she was being honest, she _was_ intrigued. She wasn't sure if suffering was the right word to describe the case Peter had promised.

Without another word, she turned back the way they'd come, heading to the address Peter had given her. It wasn't too far away.

As expected, Peter met her in front of the store half an hour later. He offered a brief rundown of the case, but there wasn't much more to say that he hadn't explained over the phone. With that, they entered. Inside, the décor was modern. Living mannequins displayed gorgeous, expensive clothing.

They walked slowly, waiting to meet the manager. "This is something you don't see every day," Peter mused, "except maybe if you're you."

A woman with a clip board walked up to Peter. "Hi, agent Peter Burke," he explained. She nodded and rushed off the way she'd come. Peter returned his gaze to one of the living mannequins. "It's like Buckingham Palace."

Nora rolled her eyes. "I've been to Buckingham Palace. Overrated." He regarded her for a moment, perhaps trying to figure out when she'd been in England, but didn't say anything.

Another woman approached quickly. "Agent Burke?" Nora assumed it was the manager they were supposed to meet.

"Yeah."

"This is a delicate situation," she explained. "I appreciate if we could keep this discreet."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Keep what discreet? You were a little vague on your telephone call."

"You're aware of this promotion?" she asked.

He nodded, to Nora's surprise. "A display of the most exotic pink diamond in the world." _Elizabeth, no doubt_. Behind the manager, the model wearing said diamond stood motionless. It was a stunning piece. It glittered beautifully in the store's lighting, casting small rainbow's on the model's skin.

"Forty-two carats Steinmetz pink set in platinum," Nora offered helpfully, earning a suspicious look from Peter. She simply shrugged.

"It may have been stolen," the manager explained.

"You're worried it's a forgery?" Nora guessed.

"Yes."

Peter returned his attention to the manager. "What makes you think it's a fake?"

"Follow me, please." Nora paused to admire the diamond briefly. Peter grabbed her roughly by the elbow and pulled her away.

In the back, the manager had an employee start pulling up security footage. "When I arrived this morning, everything was as it should be. We removed the necklace from the vault, opened the show as planned. Later, when we were doing our mandatory review of last night's security tape, we saw this."

Nothing looked out of the ordinary on the tape. "Saw what?" Nora asked.

She didn't answer. A moment later, they got their answer as a figure clad in black strolled into the frame. _Curiouser and curiouser. _

"That's your vault?" Peter asked, eyes locked on the screen, watching intently.

"Yes. The necklace was stored there for ten hours between its arrival last night and the opening of the show this morning." As she spoke, they watched their intruder push a table closer to the camera and disappear for a moment. The camera went dark.

Peter and Nora shared a concerned look. "That's your first clue?" Peter scoffed. The manager didn't answer. She looked frazzled, overworked. "Why is the necklace still on the model?"

"It's opening day," she protested. "This is _the _promotional event of the year."

"I don't care what it is," Peter huffed. "You've got a masked man entering your vault. I'm shutting you down."

The manager looked like she wanted to protest. She shot a look at Nora, as if willing her to do something. Nora shrugged sympathetically. Back on the camera, the darkness disappeared, and the figure returned to view. They looked up at the camera and offered a cheerful wave before walking away. _Someone's got a sense of humor._


	63. OPR

Chapter Sixty-Three

OPR

It didn't take Peter long to get the team to Le Joyau Precieux. He caught Jones and Lauren up to speed, and Jones wasted no time ushering patrons out of the store. "Okay, let's go, folks," he called. "The store's closed. There's nothing to see here."

Once the customers were gone, the model wearing the necklace broke character. "What's going on?" she demanded.

Nora smiled at her. "You just became a crime scene." The woman shot her a confused look, but didn't ask what that meant.

"Lauren," Peter said, drawing the agent's attention, "have all the models wait over there. Nobody leaves."

"Okay." She did as she was asked, lining them up at one side of the store.

The manager came up behind him. The stress was clearly taking its toll on her as the situation spiraled out of her control. "We're not positive it's a counterfeit," she protested. "Our appraiser's still on a plane. If it turns out to be a mistake, the amount of money we stand to lose... not to mention our credibility would be-"

Peter held up a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. An idea formed. _Would she be able…_? Then he remember who it was he was thinking of. _Of course she would_. "I've got my own appraiser." The manager sighed, shaking her head, but didn't argue.

Nora was chatting with the models along the wall. When she saw him coming her way, she excused herself and met him, out of their earshot. "I know that face," she teased. "What do you need?"

"Think you'd be able to tell if the diamond was a fake?" She smirked, cocking her head to the side as if wondering why he even needed to ask. "Come on."

They returned to the manager. She furrowed her brow in confusion. "This is your appraiser?" Peter nodded once, and she turned her attention to Nora. "You're an expert on jewels?"

Nora shrugged. "Something like that." That didn't seem to reassure the manager.

"Trust me on this one," Peter insisted. He sent Lauren to fetch the model with the necklace. The manager went off to find a pair of gloves and a jeweler's lens.

Nora pulled the gloves on as Lauren returned with the model. "Hello again," Nora greeted cheerfully. The model smiled politely. Getting to work, Nora leaned close to the model, squinting as she studied the diamond. She chewed thoughtfully on her lip.

"Is it fake?" Peter asked.

She stood upright. "It's beautiful work. But I need a closer look."

Peter nodded. "Take off the necklace."

The model turned and pulled her hair aside so Nora could unclasp the necklace. "Thank you." She pulled out the jeweler's lens and held it and the diamond up to her eye, studying it intently for a moment. "Nope," she mutter. "Nope, it's synthetic."

"There's no such thing as a synthetic pink of that size," the manager protested, "it simply doesn't exist."

Before Peter could even entertain the idea that Nora could have been mistaken, she launched into an explanation. "Yes, pink is difficult to match." She looked very smug, pleased with herself. "It's only achieved using radiation, which creates an extremely fine inclusion within the stone that's virtually impossible to detect." She smiled sweetly. "Unless you're looking for it."

She handed the lens over to the manager, holding up the diamond so she could see for herself. "I don't know how this could have happened," the manager sighed. "No one knew when the necklace was to arrive or where it was supposed to be stored."

_That smells like an inside job_, Peter thought. He turned to Jones and Lauren. "Alright, you two, I'm going to need alibis from everyone who worked here and anybody who knew the diamond was in the vault." He turned back to the manager. "What about our boy with the mask, you have any surveillance on how he got in?"

She shook her head. "Our security cameras only record what happens on the floor and in the vault itself," she explained. "We don't record the hallways. We have back door, but the alarm was never triggered. He must have tampered with the system."

"You think he hacked the alarm?" he asked Nora. She didn't answer, having returned to chatting with the model. "Hey!" She turned back to him, eyes wide. "Hacked the alarm?"

"Oh, yeah," she mused, "it's possible if you can find the camera's blind spot and sneak past."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you'd do?"

She considered it for a moment. "It's one option," she dodged.

He sighed. _One headache at a time_. He returned his attention to the manager. "Alright, I'm going to confiscate your surveillance video, the necklace… and, we'll be in touch."

* * *

They headed back to the office together, ready to get a jump on the case. "ERT's going over the alarm system, but this guy's a pro," Peter explained as they made their way into the bullpen. "Think they'll find any prints?"

"No," she said with confidence. She paused, eyes fixing on the conference room. An unfamiliar man sat with Hughes, another standing at the top of the stairs, glaring down at the bullpen.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Who is that?" As usual, she fell into her habit of answering questions with questions. The man in the conference room glanced over his shoulder, eyes seeming to linger on them for a moment.

"I don't know," Peter admitted, "but Hughes doesn't look happy."

Jones came down the stairs, stopping in front of him. His face was grim. "OPR's here."

"That explains why," he muttered.

"OPR?" she asked, brow furrowing.

"Office of Professional Responsibility," he explained. "The police have Internal Affairs, we have OPR."

"Hughes wants you in the office," Jones told him.

Peter sighed. "Of course he does." It was never fun when OPR paid a visit, and Peter wondered what it had to do with him. He joined the two men in the conference room. He didn't miss the OPR agent glance over his shoulder once more, looking down at Nora who still stood watching from the bullpen.

"Agent Burke," Hughes said, "this is Garret Fowler."

"OPR," Peter acknowledged as they shook hands.

"Bad news travels fast," Fowler joked.

"Yes it does."

Hughes looked at Fowler with suspicious eyes for a moment. "As far as anyone knows, he's here for a standard review."

Peter sat down. "Yeah, because that line always works." Fowler fixed him with a hard look, which Peter returned. "Nobody's gonna buy that bridge today." Peter's eyes glanced over the open file in front of Fowler. _A file with my name on it_. "That's my file."

"Yes, it is," Fowler said flatly. "It's impressive work. Wanted to talk to you about the case that you're currently investigating."

Peter's brow furrowed in confusion, and he shot a glance at Hughes. The older man's face was unreadable. "The jewelry heist? Why?"

"Well, the only people that knew that diamond was going to be placed in the vault the night before the show were a few key NYPD brass and a handful of FBI agents."

"You think it's an inside job," Peter summarized. Fowler didn't answer, just glanced at Hughes, who still stared blankly at Peter. "_And_ you already have a suspect, don't you?" _Why is this my problem_?

"You know where Nora Caffrey was last night?"

Peter looked back over at Hughes, incredulous. "Am I being interrogated here?" He didn't like where this conversation was going.

"You're not," Hughes told Fowler pointedly.

"Look," Peter sighed, "this whole thing is a waste of time. Caffrey didn't do it. She wears an electronic monitoring anklet. It records everywhere she goes. Just pull it up."

"Yeah, we did that," Fowler assured him.

His stomach twisted in a knot, but he held a firm expression. "And?"

"And some of Caffrey's data is missing from last night."

The words took a moment to process. "Missing?" _How is that possible_?

"Went dark for six hours."

Peter scoffed. "Well, that's impossible. That anklet can't be tampered with."

"No, it can't be," Fowler allowed, "but evidently the database where the information is stored can be. Someone wiped out six hours of tracking data."

"Then I suggest that you lurk around the U.S. Marshal's office, because they're the people who monitor that anklet."

Hughes finally stepped in. "Caffrey belongs to the Bureau," he reminded Peter. "That makes her our problem."

_There's no way she did it_, Peter thought stubbornly. _Is there_? Suddenly, he wasn't so sure.


	64. Adrian Tulane

Chapter Sixty-Four

Adrian Tulane

Peter was gone for a long time. Nora watched from the bullpen for a while, but was unable to glean any insight from the three men's body language other than it was not a pleasant conversation. She got to work, compiling a list of people she thought might have been capable of the forgery and waited in Peter's office, sitting on his desk.

He didn't look happy when he returned, but offered no information about his chat with Hughes and the OPR agent. "Any leads?" he asked. Surprisingly, he didn't make a fuss about her being on his desk. _Whatever they said in there, it got to him_, she decided.

She handed him the file she'd been looking over. "This is a short list of suspects capable of pulling this off." She shook her head slightly. "Best ones are already incarcerated."

He read over the list quickly. "This guy is dead," he said flatly.

"Okay," she said slowly, "list just got shorter." She thought for a moment before grabbing another file off the table and handing it to Peter. "Adrian Tulane."

"This is our prime suspect?"

"Yeah, it's a top-notch forgery," she admitted, not without a note of appreciation. It truly was superb work. She would have been proud if she'd made something so stunning. "Not many people are capable of this kind of work."

Peter regarded her for a moment, eyes unreadable. "What about you?"

She bobbed her head back and forth slightly, considering her words. _Of course_, she thought, her vain side rearing it's head. "If I were legally within fifty feet of the right equipment, maybe." Peter sighed under his breath. "Tulane's smart," she continued, "and a showman. Cameras don't scare him and he has the facilities to pull this off. It's got his signature all over it."

"Alright," he decided, flipping the file closed. "Let's go talk to him." Nora hopped down off the desk and followed Peter out. The agent from OPR was still sitting in the conference room, talking with Hughes. She could feel his gaze on her as they passed, and she got the sinking suspicion that Peter's conversation with him had been about her.

* * *

Nora didn't ask about Peter's conversation with Fowler on their car ride, for which Peter was grateful. Fowler was convinced Nora was their prime suspect, and as much as Peter hated to admit it, the seed of doubt had been planted in his own mind as well. He didn't want to believe that she'd done it, but her history coupled with the missing tracking data didn't paint a very pretty picture.

He'd gauged her reaction when he asked if she thought she was capable of the forgery. She had been vague, deliberately choosing words that wouldn't cast suspicion on herself. _If I was legally allowed within fifty feet of the right equipment, maybe_. But, that was just Nora, wasn't it? Even if she'd never committed a particular crime, it didn't mean she didn't know how. And she was always vague and elusive. It was second-nature to her.

It wasn't a long drive to the address listed in Tulane's file. They got there, and Peter flashed his badge to the secretary. _Criminals with secretaries_, Peter couldn't help but scoff. She led them upstairs. Nora was a bundle of excited energy, practically bouncing off the walls.

"What is with you?" he asked, exasperated. "You're like a kid on a sugar high."

She rolled her eyes, but it was playful. "You don't understand," she protested. "Tulane is a legend."

Peter scoffed. "A legend?" Peter wondered what kind of criminal you would have to be to make Nora consider you a legend. "Don't oversell him," he chided.

"It's like you meeting Elliot Ness."

Peter's brow furrowed. "Elliot Ne-" Then he caught it and rolled his eyes at the comparison. They had reached the top of the stairs.

A man Peter recognized as Tulane from the file lounged on a purple couch, tossing puzzle pieces down to a woman sitting on the floor. The puzzle she worked on was massive and entirely white. _What is that, some kind of modern art thing_?

"Doing a puzzle with your girlfriend, huh?" Peter asked, announcing his presence to Tulane. "That's a nice, wholesome family activity."

Tulane didn't look up. "How can I help you, Agent…?"

"Burke, FBI," he explained, holding up his badge. Tulane didn't so much as glance up. "You're Tulane?"

The man smirked. "You know I am." Finally, he turned to look at Peter.

"Yeah, I do. I wanna ask you a few questions. You familiar with-"

"The diamond necklace that was stolen from Le Joyau Precieux?" Tulane finished, nonchalantly cutting Peter off.

"Yeah. That." It wasn't often criminals admitted they knew anything about the questions the FBI asked them.

Tulane shrugged. "Whenever something like this happens, I get a visit from someone like you." He pointed sharply at Peter. He smiled broadly before turning to reach for something on the end table next to him. He offered Peter a yellow envelope. "That's why I try to be prepared. You'll find plane ticket confirming I arrived in the country this morning."

Peter pulled out the papers. "Oh," Tulane added, "and you're gonna love the photos of my trip to Madrid last week." He whistled sharply. He was still smiling, not a care in the world. "Anything else?"

Peter shared a look with Nora, who was barely concealing a look of admiration. She had been remarkably quiet the whole time they'd been there. He looked at the puzzle again. "What's that supposed to be, a cloud?"

"No," Tulane said dryly.

Their lead had gone nowhere. Tulane's alibi was solid. Peter swallowed hard, glancing over at Nora once more. "I'll be in touch."

He turned to leave. Nora was still smiling. "Stop grinning," he snapped.

She shrugged lightly. "What? The guy is slick," she whispered.

"Got a crush?" he shot back. She rolled her eyes. "Let's hope he's guilty, too." _For your own sake_. He headed for the stairs, but paused when he realized Nora didn't follow.

Instead, she stepped over to Tulane, sitting on the back of the couch to whisper something that Peter couldn't hear. Tulane didn't replay, just raised an eyebrow. Nora grinned, glancing back at Peter quickly. She leaned in to whisper one last thing before finally catching up with Peter.

Back on the street, Peter sighed with frustration. "Ah, that was a bust."

"Why are you disappointed?" she asked lightly, still in a good mood from meeting Tulane. "This is the part you like. Moving the pieces, solving the puzzle."

"I am moving the pieces," he sighed. He didn't want to ask, but he had no choice. "What were you doing the night of the heist?"

"Went over some case files," she said. If she was concerned about the question, her voice didn't show it.

"That's it?" he probed. "Didn't hang out with anybody? June? The short guy?"

She sighed. "I don't have an alibi," she said, answering the question Peter had really been asking. "Look, I get it. Inside job, diamond forgery, OPR's in town." She was sharp, as always. "I'm sure I'm at the top of the list."

Peter shot her a pointed look, and they came to a stop. "I am the list, aren't I?"

Peter swallowed. The look on her face, like she was trying hard not to be offended by the accusation… _Is it real? Or is she acting_? It was impossible to tell. "Did you do it?" he asked flatly. There was no sense beating around the bush. He felt like a parent. _Come clean now, because it's gonna be worse if I find out later._

"Come on, Peter," she scoffed. There was hurt in her eyes.

"Did you do it?"

She met his gaze evenly. "I didn't do it," she said firmly. He didn't say anything, studying her for a long moment, still trying to decide if it was genuine or an act. "I'm telling you the truth, Peter."

Peter still couldn't speak. She shook her head and walked away. Peter watched her go. He wanted so badly to believe her, but the seed of doubt that Fowler had planted stopped him.

* * *

Peter returned to the office alone. His mind was buzzing with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, he wanted to believe in Nora, wanted so badly for her to be telling the truth. On the other, the evidence pointing to the contrary was steadily building.

_Maybe there's a way I can know for sure_, he thought. He pulled Nora's old files, looking through them methodically. _She's vain_, he remembered.

_I mean, the forgeries you caught me on, I signed them._That's what she had told him, when they were working their very first case together. He'd never noticed a signature. _Look under the bank seal under polarized light some time_.

Peter sent an agent to find Jones. He wanted this done discreetly. It wasn't long before there was a knock on his door, pulling him out of his thoughts. Jones opened the door slowly. "Hey, looking for me?"

Peter was silent for a moment. _Once I go down this road, I can't come back_, he told himself. _But I need to know_. "Yeah, I need you to look into this," he said quickly, before he could change his mind. He handed Jones the file.

Brow furrowed, Jones flipped through it. "It's forged bonds," he realized. "Some of Caffrey's old work."

"I need you to look at them under polarized light," he sighed, "for a signature."

Jones raised an eyebrow. "What, Nora's signature?"

"Yeah," Peter confirmed, "when I arrested Caffrey the second time, she told me she signed the bonds. I wanna know if that's true, or if she's bragging." Peter knew it was a lame excuse.

Jones didn't press it. "Okay." He shifted for a moment before speaking again. "Is this, uh, related to our fake diamonds?" Jones was always so sharp.

Peter hesitated for a moment. "Let's hope it's not." Jaw set in a hard line, Jones left, closing the door behind him, and leaving Peter with his thoughts once more.


	65. Rights

Chapter Sixty-Five

Rights

Nora made her way home, irritated. What reason did Peter have to suspect her? She had a tracking anklet that _proved_ she wasn't at the scene of the crime, just pull the damn tracking data up! It was frustrating and insulting that Peter even felt the need to ask if she'd done it.

As she walked, a knot formed in her stomach. If Peter was suspicious, checking her data would have been the first thing he did. What had he seen that made him feel the need to ask anyway? She hadn't been at the scene of the crime.

She dialed Mozzie. "How quickly can you get information on the feds?" she snapped, not giving him any time to speak after answering.

"Uh… an hour, maybe? Why?" He was lost, she could tell.

"I think someone's trying to set me up," she explained. "Peter accused me of stealing that diamond."

"You have a tracking anklet, how could he think..." He trailed off. "Oh, hence the part where you think someone's setting you up."

"Yeah."

"And you think the man with the ring is making his move."

"It's as good a guess as any."

"Anyone in particular you want me to look into?"

"Just… everybody, Moz." She paused. "And see if you can find out anything about an agent from OPR, Garret Fowler."

"I'll see what I can dig up, and I'll meet you at your place." He hung up.

She made it home and poured herself a generous drink. While she waited, she pulled out the picture of Kyle, both halves, and studied it numbly. She took deep breaths, trying to push back the anger that bubbled in her stomach. Getting angry and losing her clear head wouldn't help anything.

Mozzie joined her some time later, prompt as always, with a stack of files. She didn't speak, just stared at the photo.

Mozzie milled around for a moment before deciding to speak. "I appreciate the irony," he said. Nora dropped the photo, glancing up at him. "We're looking into them, and they're looking into you."

"Tell me what you got," she sighed.

"Okay," he muttered, pulling the first file off his pile and placing it in front of her. "I checked into Peter's boss, Hughes. This guy's a legend." Despite Mozzie's innate dislike of the FBI, there was almost a note of respect in his tone. "Been with the FBI for twenty-five years. They were forced to make him retire, but they found a loophole and brought him back."

"Skeletons?" she asked, glancing over the information he'd compiled.

"Nada." He pulled the next file off his stack. "And I checked that Agent Ruiz who handles organized crime. _Lots_ of skeletons there, but I don't think he's smart enough." Based on what she knew about Ruiz, she had to agree.

He placed down the next file. "Checked Jones. Did you know his first name is Clinton?" Nora rolled her eyes. "Checked into, uh, Lauren."

She shot him an odd look. "You checked Lauren?"

"You said check everybody," he reminded her. He sat down. There was only one more file left in his hand. "Then there's this guy from OPR, Fowler."

"What about him?"

"He used to work violent crimes for the bureau," Mozzie explained as Nora compared the photo of Fowler to the arm of the man with the ring. "Wife was killed during a robbery and he took a year leave. Then he joined OPR and his files were sealed."

"Sealed?" That was unusual. Files aren't sealed unless something major happened. "Interesting." She shook her head. She'd gotten an uneasy feeling from Fowler from the first time she saw him. Something about the way he leered at her… "He showed up awfully fast after this went down."

"Have a ring?"

"No, no ring." But, rings can be removed, of course.

"Tan line?"

"No." She sighed. "That doesn't mean it's not him."

Mozzie shook his head, eyes downcast. "I hope not. OPR is like this giant, sucking black hole, accountable only to the DOJ."

Nora raised an eyebrow, wondering how he knew so much about an organization she'd only heard about earlier that day. "Department of Justice?"

"Well," he amended, "the DOJ is just a euphemism, of course, for the military industrial complex."

"And big oil, right?" she teased.

"Goes without saying." He regarded her for a moment. "By the way, that necklace…?"

She sucked in a breath, and looked at him pointedly. "Yeah?"

He smiled knowingly. "Did you…?"

"I didn't take it," she snapped.

"Because if you need a fence..."

"Moz." _God, now even Mozzie doesn't believe me_?

"Oh, oh, okay!" He shook his head. "Okay, I got it. I get it." He didn't look too convinced, but dropped it._ I have the best friends, don't I_?

* * *

Nora returned to work the next day in better spirits than she'd left, Peter noticed. Either she'd gotten over her previous offense, or she was putting on a show. He was still waiting for the results from Jones' secret assignment.

Peter and Nora met with Hughes in the conference room to discuss the case. Nora chatted happily, spinning idly around in her chair. _Does she ever stop moving_? It was nearly constant with the fidgeting and fiddling. He wondered how she didn't go stir crazy sitting in prison for four years.

"We can't figure out how he stole it," she mused, still acting as if Tulane was the prime suspect instead of her, "we can try to grab him when he goes to fence it." That actually wasn't a bad plan.

"It's a unique piece," Peter countered, "too hot for the market right now."

She stopped spinning. "Brunei is an interesting angle, because the market there is less rigid." Jones entered, jaw set firmly. She paused as Jones moved to whisper to Peter.

"I checked the bonds like you asked," he said softly, as Nora continued to chatter. "Found the signature. But, uh… so did OPR." Peter's stomach sunk into his shoes. _Damn it, Nora_.

Her story was cut off by Fowler entering the room. "Nora Caffrey." She glanced up at him, eyes big and round, still smirking from whatever she'd been saying before. "You're under arrest."

Her smile fell. "What?" Peter sighed under his breath.

Fowler plopped a file down on the table for Peter and Hughes to see. "We found the signature NC microprinted on the fake diamond," he explained. In the file, there were pictures showing just that.

"It matches the signature we found on the counterfeit bonds she made. See?" They all looked. It matched, alright. Fowler smirked down at Nora, who looked like she'd been smacked. "That's good work, Agent Burke."

There was betrayal in her eyes as she looked at Peter. He swallowed hard, looking away. "Let's go," Fowler told her.

"Stop," Peter hissed, blocking him from rounding the table toward her. She met his eyes evenly, that moment of vulnerability gone. "She's my responsibility."

He pulled out his handcuffs and grabbed her wrist. "Peter," she protested, not resisting as he pulled her up.

"Nora, you have the right to remain silent."

"I didn't do this."

"Remain silent," he advised. "_Please_." Her eyes grew steely, and she pursed her lips tight closed as he cuffed her hands in front of her. He continued reading her her rights.

"Do you understand these rights as they've been read to you?" She didn't answer, just glared. "_Do you understand _these rights as they've been read to you?" he repeated.

"Yeah," she spat. "I understand."

"Alright," Fowler said, "let's go."

Suddenly, the thought of Nora being paraded in handcuffs in front of people she'd been working with for months didn't sit right with Peter. He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and draped it over her hands.

Everyone would still know, of course. It was a useless gesture. Peter grabbed her by the bicep and led her out of the room. She walked with her head held high, face an unreadable mask. Fowler and Jones followed them down the stairs, Hughes returning to his office.

All eyes fell on the procession. Talking stopped. Everyone froze. Jones stopped by Lauren. Everyone was shocked, but no one was surprised. Of course, Nora did it. She was a criminal. It was just what she did.

* * *

Nora was taken to interrogation, her blood boiling. It wasn't the first time she'd been there. Fowler moved to handcuff her to the table, but Peter stopped him. "She's not going anywhere," he protested. _Sure, now you'll stick up for me_.

He didn't look pleased about it, but he didn't press it. Peter removed her handcuffs, stowing them back in his pocket. She could barely stand to look at him. He didn't believe her. That hurt. It hurt like hell, though she couldn't say she was all that surprised.

"Do you want to call your lawyer?" Peter asked, voice somewhat soft.

"No," she said flatly, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He sighed. He looked like he'd aged ten years. "Nora, call your lawyer."

She shrugged. "Why? I don't need one. I didn't do anything."

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

Fowler chuckled. "If she doesn't want a lawyer, that's her right, Burke." Peter shot him a nasty look, but didn't say anything. Fowler opened his files and began his interrogation. _Bring it on_.

* * *

Peter sat back and watched. He'd interrogated Nora before. Even without a lawyer present, he knew it was futile. She wasn't going to give them anything. That was a skill she'd long since mastered. But Fowler didn't seem deterred. They had a lot of damning evidence, after all. What did it matter if she spilled any secrets?

But this interrogation was different than the first one had been. Then, Nora had laughed, smiled, joked. It had been a game to her. This wasn't a game. She glared, she answered questions with as few syllables as she could.

"Look," Fowler said, leaning in, "we have enough evidence to bury you, Caffrey. And with your priors, you're going away for a long time. If you cooperate now, maybe we'll be able to help you out." Peter scoffed internally. Fowler had no intention of 'helping her out' or going easy on her. And Nora wasn't stupid enough to believe him.

She leaned in too, eyes softening just a little. "Bite me." Fowler grinned. Nora was beginning to lose her temper, Peter realized, and no good would come of that.

He sighed. "Enough," he said. "We're not getting anything out of her. This interrogation is over."

Fowler's face was unreadable. He simply shrugged, collected his files, and left without a word. Nora glared up at Peter, and he had a hard time meeting her gaze.

He pulled his handcuffs out once more. "Stand up," he sighed. She complied. "I need to search you." She didn't protest. Peter didn't find anything on her, not that he thought he would. His eyes fell on her hair. It was in a bun. _She'd be put of her cuffs in a moment if I leave them. _"If I go though your hair, how many bobby pins will I find?"

"Five."

That seemed a little excessive, but what did he know about women's hair? "I'd better not find any more than that." He started pulling them out. Sure enough, there were only five. "Alright, let's go."

It didn't sit right with him, but what could he do? All the evidence pointed to Nora. He had no choice. Nora was headed back to prison.


	66. Shreds of Evidence

Chapter Sixty-six

Shreds of Evidence

When Nora was told that an Agent Burke had come to visit her in prison, she almost refused to see him out of spite. Ultimately, she decided to hear what he had to say. If he'd decided to make the trip all the way out there to talk to her, he must have thought it was important.

He was already seated on a metal bench when she was led in. She took a seat across from him, regarding him with cool contempt. He wouldn't look at her. He sat there for a long moment, shaking his head, trying to find the words he wanted to say.

"You let me down, Nora," he decided, still not looking at her.

"_I _let _you_ down?" she scoffed. _The nerve…_ Finally, he turned to look at her. "You told Fowler to look for my initials."

"And you told me to look at your bonds under a polarized light, remember?" She swallowed hard. _A mistake I won't be repeating any time soon_. "Well, guess what. I did. And, yeah, you signed them."

"You think I'd be stupid enough to do that again?"

"I guess you were." Nora didn't respond. He leaned in. "The thief is associated with law enforcement, your anklet was tampered with, you have no alibi, and your initials are on the diamond." It was all very damning. "What am I supposed to think?"

"I was set up."

"By who?" He didn't dismiss that out of hand, she realized. That was something. Unfortunately, it wasn't a question she could answer yet.

"I'm working on that."

Peter sighed, shaking his head once more. "You're not helping things."

A guard approached them. "Agent Burke?"

"What?" he snapped.

"Her lawyer's here."

The look on Peter's face when Mozzie walked up to them was priceless. Under different circumstances, she might have laughed. He rounded on her. "He's a lawyer?" he asked dryly.

"You can check my University of Phoenix online degree," Mozzie invited. "Go Cardinals. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak with my client. Alone."

Peter shot a dark look at her before standing. He left without another word. Mozzie took his place.

Despite herself, Nora couldn't stop the words from leaving her mouth, calling after him. "I didn't let you down." He paused, turning to look at her once more, surprised. He blinked, studying her, and she found herself unable to meet his gaze any longer. She looked down at her lap.

Then he was gone. "Alright," Nora said, turning to Mozzie, now down to business. "Any problems?"

"None," he assured her with a grin. "This was genius. I don't know why we didn't think of this earlier." He dug through his briefcase. "The judge actually raised his voice to the prosecutor. 'Open discovery. Turn over every document the government has on Caffrey.'" He pulled a bag full of paper scraps out the case. "They're sending a truck!"

Nora couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Did you follow Fowler?"

"Yup. Once the request went through, he made a pit stop at a local dumpster." He handed her the bag. "He shredded these."

"Perfect." She sighed. "Thank you, Moz. This is perfect." She sat the bag aside. "Any information on the judge?"

"Mm-hmm." He handed over the file. She glanced through it.

"Wait," she muttered. "He's got a private office not connected to the federal building on Mott Street." Mozzie nodded. "Moz, I need you to liquidate some assets. I need money."

"Why?"

She grinned. "I want you to buy a bakery." He blinked in confusion.

"A… bakery?"

"Yup. You know, cakes, cookies, pies."

"Why?" She handed the file back, and he read over it. His eyes lit up with realization as he saw the same thing she had seen. "Oh, that could work."

* * *

Almost a week had passed since Peter's visit with Nora, and he still couldn't get it out of his head. He knew what a convincing liar she was, but something about that meeting had felt genuine. _I didn't let you down_. He swallowed down the lump in his throat as he headed up to his office.

He was stopped by Fowler. "And here the man is now. Agent Burke."

"Yeah," he said, trying to push down his misgivings.

"Excellent job yesterday," Fowler offered. "Appreciate the cooperation."

Peter sighed. "You know, Caffrey was a great asset. She did good work for us."

"Yeah, maybe," Fowler scoffed, "but don't forget she's a criminal." _Oh, who could for get that_? "Good job." He returned to the conference room and began speaking to his agents, wrapping up their case.

Before Peter could get to his office, he was stopped by Hughes, wearing a sour expression. _Great. What now_? "We have a problem. Caffrey's lawyer just requested every file the bureau has on her." Peter blinked. Why would they need that? "The judge ordered us to comply."

_I was set up_. Peter grinned. If someone in the bureau set her up, there would be a paper trail. Peter glanced over his shoulder. Fowler had fallen silent and was staring at Peter and Hughes. _He doesn't seem too happy about that, now does he_?

After setting his stuff down in his office, he went to grab a cup of coffee and touch base with Lauren and Jones. Despite the evidence against Nora, he decided to have them continue looking into Tulane, just to tie up any loose ends.

"So, all Tulane's information checks out," Lauren explained. "He's eerily clean."

"Of course he is," Peter sighed. "What's Nora's lawyer been up to?"

"Not much," Jones admitted. "Legally, we can't follow him. Attorney-client privileges."

"Yeah," Peter laughed. He sat down. "So we have no idea what he's doing?"

"Well," Lauren amended, pulling out a file, "we do know he made a large real estate purchase in Nora's name."

Confused, Peter glanced over the file. "What? She bought a bakery?"

"That's what it looks like," Jones said.

That didn't make a lick of sense. "Why'd she buy a bakery?"

"We don't know," Jones hissed. "We don't even know where the damn thing's located. All we have is a lease with a redacted address."

"Attorney-client privileges," Peter muttered, still trying to make heads or tails of the whole thing.

"Covers a lot of sins, that one," Lauren mused.

"A bakery," Peter repeated, bemused. _Why a damn bakery_? Nora didn't do anything without a reason. There was some method to her madness, Peter just couldn't see it.

* * *

Nora spent her nights digging through scraps of paper. She had a tablet of notebook paper and a bar of soap to act as glue, ready to spend countless mind-numbing hours putting shredding pieces of paper back together, like the world's most tedious jigsaw puzzle. She was slow and methodical, building incriminating pieces of evidence against Fowler, strip by strip. Her name jumped out at her. And, surprisingly, so did Peter's.

In the end, she'd reconstructed his paper trail. A file from OPR. She read over it. It was a transcript, recounting her phone conversation with Peter when he'd told her about the diamond heist. _Fowler's been listening in on our phone calls_, she realized. That was how he'd arrived so soon after the investigation started.

That was her proof that she was being framed.


	67. Swan Dive

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Swan Dive

The day of her arraignment came came quickly. She'd set Mozzie to the preparations, and all she could do was wait. Waiting was madness. But it was temporary. All that was left was to enact her plan.

Mozzie brought her a nice change of clothes and some makeup. For once, she wasn't too thrilled to be in a skirt, but she had to look the part, so she would just have to make due. They discussed the details – vaguely – while she applied the finishing touches on her makeup.

"Bakery?"

"Done," he assured her.

"Construction?"

"Finished."

"How's the air conditioning in the judge's office?"

"Hmm… broke down this morning."

She smoothed a couple flyaway hairs. "Alright." She grinned. "Let's go to court." The guards cuffed her and led her to her transportation.

She took calming breaths. She couldn't afford to get anxious, to lose her nerve. She only had one shot. Everything had to go perfect. _I think this is my most stupid idea yet_, she chided herself. _But, as they say, fortune favors the bold_.

And boldness was something Nora Caffrey had in spades.

* * *

Peter met Elizabeth outside the federal building before the arraignment. Of course, he wasn't going to miss it for the world. "Hey, you," he greeted.

"Oh, hey, you got my message."

"I did, thank you." He gave her a quick kiss and a hug.

"I wanted you to have a familiar face here," she explained.

He smiled. "Well, I'll take yours anytime."

They started walking, hand-in-hand. "So, uh, are you sure Nora did this?"

He sighed. As much as he wanted to believe her, he couldn't "Yeah, I am. Of course, she says she was framed."

"Maybe she was."

"I wish it was true," he admitted. _And I wish I could have your optimism_. Lauren appeared out of the crowd. "Hey, what's up?"

"Hi. So the arraignment's been moved."

Peter's brow furrowed. "Why?"

She sighed. "Nora said she's gonna confess."

Peter froze. "So I guess you were right," Elizabeth said, looking just as shocked and confused as Peter felt.

It didn't sit right with him. "Nora never confesses."

"Yeah," Lauren continued, "she said some important people were gonna be named, and she won't do it in an open court, so they moved the proceedings."

"Where?"

She pointed off to Peter's right. "Judge's chambers around the corner."

Peter sighed, turning back to El. "Honey, I'll call you later, okay?" She nodded, understanding. He pointed at Lauren. "Get a hold of Hughes." They went their separate directions. As he walked, Peter tried to figure out what Nora's play was.

* * *

The heat in the judge's chambers was suffocating. The man, who was rather large, had already begun to sweat, and dabbed at beads of it as they rolled down his neck.

"Bailiff, would you open the window?" The bailiff moved to do as he was asked. "Oh, the heat is stifling in here. Unfortunately, the air conditioning is not working today." Nora nodded, waiting patiently. _All according to plan_.

With the window open, the bailiff retreated. "Thank you," the judge said. "Please, wait outside." The bailiff closed the door behind him, and the judge turned his attention back to Nora. "Per your request, Miss Caffrey, the chambers have been cleared."

"Thank you, Your Honor," she said graciously.

"In accordance with that agreement, you are now prepared to give a full confession?"

Nora smiled sweetly. "I am, Your Honor. Let me be the first to admit, I've done a lot of things in my life that I'm not proud of..." She trailed off, reconsidering her words. "No, that's not true. I'm proud of most of them. But what I'm about to do today, this will be something to be proud of." The judge waited patiently. "I confess that I did not steal that diamond from Le Joyau Precieux."

The judge narrowed his eyes. "I cleared these chambers because you claimed to have sensitive information vital to this case," he reminded her. "If you didn't steal the diamond, then who did?"

She grinned. "I'll let you know." With a wink, she made a break for the window. Four stories up, it was no joke. _No time to lose my nerve now_. She climbed out onto the ledge.

"Bailiff!" she heard the judge shout. But it was too little, too late.

She took a deep breath.

And jumped.

* * *

The awning read 'The Greatest Cake.' Peter froze. _The great escape_. "Son of a bitch, she bought that bakery."

He didn't have time to react. His eyes climbed the building, up to the fourth floor. Nora was standing on the ledge, looking down.

_She's insane_, he thought. _There's no way she would_-

She jumped.

Peter watched in mute shock as she fell down through the air, her long black hair streaming up around her face. The fall seemed to take forever, but passed in the blink of an eye. She landed with a _fwoosh_ in the awning of the bakery, bouncing back up a couple feet.

She wasted no time rolling over to the edge and throwing herself over the metal pole. She landed gracefully on her feet, for once not wearing high heels. As she straightened herself up, she saw Peter. Her hair was a wild tangle, and her eyes were wide from the adrenaline.

She locked eyes with him for a moment, offering only a broad shrug. _Sorry, Peter, gotta run._ She booked it in the opposite directing.

Peter smirked to himself, not bothering to chase after her. She disappeared into a van. It sped off. Someone behind him pulled out a walkie-talkie. "Somebody jumped out of a window and ran into a van." The man ran off, perhaps attempting to get a plate number. Around him, people chatted in fear and excitement. _Only in New York City_.

_Only Nora_.

Peter chuckled to himself. "She's not in the van."

* * *

The feeling of falling into empty space was exhilarating and terrifying. It seemed to stretch on forever, but before she knew it, she was enveloped by the sturdy orange awning of the bakery. Her breath was pushed from her lungs. She took a moment to recover, gasping for air. She didn't have the luxury of taking her time. She needed to move.

Using the momentum from her fall, she grabbed the pole and launched herself over the edge, swinging for a moment to slow herself before she let go. She landed roughly, feeling a sharp jolt in her knees. Not ideal, but she'd live.

As she straightened up, her eyes caught on something she hadn't expected to see. Peter. She hesitated, meeting his gaze. He stared, bewildered, but didn't move. She gave him an exaggerated shrug, hoping it conveyed some meaning.

It was time to run. She'd waited long enough. She turned tail and ran the other direction. Luck was on her side as no cars were coming down the street. She made a beeline for the red van, throwing the door open quickly. She saw the driver start, surprised by her sudden appearance.

Closing the door behind her, she wasted no time removing the floor panel and dropping down into the open manhole below. She just barely closed it over her head before the van sped away.

Once at the bottom, she took some time to catch her breath, to still her furiously beating heart. Getting out of the office had been the fun part. She still had to get into hiding without being caught.

_Fortune favors the bold_, she reminded herself, thanking every god she could name that it had proved to be true. And Nora could name _a lot_ of gods.

* * *

It didn't take long for the team to get to judge's chambers. Nora had become a fleeing suspect, and Peter had to get started on tracking her down for a _third_ time. Jones joined him. They went to the place the van had been parked. Sure enough, it was directly over a manhole cover.

"Get to the city planner's office," Peter told him, "find out where these tunnels lead." Jones nodded, and headed off.

Fowler and Hughes got out of a car and headed toward him briskly. "Burke," Hughes called. "Caffrey escaped?"

"Yeah, did a four-story swan dive onto that awning of the bakery." He gestured toward it. "Who approved moving the arraignment?"

"The Marshals guaranteed the security of the room," Fowler explained.

"Never assume anything with Nora," Peter chided. "You know, I've been working my ass off keeping this kid on the straight and narrow. She's been helping us win cases until you came along."

"Oh, don't put this on me," Fowler protested.

They started talking over each other, Peter finally venting his frustration at the OPR agent. It was short-lived, however, as Hughes intervened. "Hey, hey, gentlemen. Gentlemen." They stopped talking. "Hey, let's focus on the problem here." Peter sighed. "What do we know?"

Before Peter could answer, he spotted Lauren rushing toward them. "We stopped the van?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she sighed. "The only person inside was the van was the driver." Peter nodded, expecting nothing less. "He claims he was hired through an anonymous internet posting. Five hundred buck in an envelope to pick up the van and park it at this spot."

"Did the van have a floor panel that was removable?" he asked dryly. In retrospect, her plan had been very clever.

"How'd you know?" she deadpanned.

Peter shook his head. "Caffrey wasn't in there more than a few seconds," he concluded. "She's gone underground."

"Can we track her anklet?" she asked.

"They _removed it_ when we arrested her," Peter said, shooting a pointed look at Fowler.

"Okay," Hughes sighed. "Burke, find her. _Again_."

"I'm not comfortable with Agent Burke running this operation," Fowler protested.

"I don't care if you're comfortable or not," Hughes snapped, and Fowler did _not_ look happy about that. "Burke knows Caffrey better than anyone. Now get to work." He stormed off with Lauren in tow.

Fowler sighed, turning back to Peter. "Alright, Burke. What's your plan?"

"Set up road blocks," he said without hesitation. "Put up wanted posters." _Exactly how _not_ to catch a fleeing Caffrey_.


	68. Making an Accomplice

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Making An Accomplice

When Nora finally arrived at Saturday – one of Mozzie's many safe houses – an hour after her leap from the judges chambers, she was exhausted. The adrenaline of the jump had long since died out, and her roundabout trek through the sewers and the city to ensure that she hadn't been followed had provided no time to rest and decompress.

As Mozzie's safe houses went, Saturday was a bit on the small side. It was quite a ways outside her normal radius, and was sparsely furnished with a mishmash of stolen and 'recycled' décor. Or, to be blunt, it looked like stuff Moz had picked up on the curb on trash day. But, beggars could seldom be choosers, and she slumped gracelessly onto a ratty old couch, ignoring the musty smell.

Mozzie joined her from another room, carrying a dufflebag over his shoulder. "That my bag?" she asked, sitting up a little as he dropped it on the floor at her feet.

"I wasn't sure what all to grab," he admitted. She unzipped it and began riffling through. "You're so picky about your clothes, after all."

She rolled her eyes. "This is fine," she decided, pulling out a pair of jean and a t-shirt. "Thanks."

She went to change. Mozzie had poured her a drink by the time she returned, offering it up wordlessly as she passed to take her seat on the couch once more. She drank deeply. "So, my plan for getting you out of the city-" he began.

"I'm not leaving the city," she said flatly over him, and his words died in his throat.

He looked at her as if she'd grown a second head. "I'm sorry, you're going to have to run that by me again. Because, it _sounded_ like you said you weren't leaving the city, but surely that's not right, because you're not completely out of your mind."

"I'm not leaving the city, Moz."

"You're completely out of your mind." She sighed, but he didn't give her the chance to speak. He stood, beginning to pace. "This is exactly what we've been waiting for, Nora. You're off your anklet. The suit has no clue where you are."

"It's not that simple."

"It _is_," he argued. "And, need I remind you that the suit turned on you? What was the point of escaping if you're _not going to escape_?" He flailed his arms in exaggeration to punctuate his words.

She sighed again, running a hand through her hair, trying to find the words to explain it. "Look, I can't afford to run yet. The man with the ring is FBI, remember? I can't look for him if I'm not close to the FBI, or if I'm on the run. For the time being, this is where I need to be." He turned this over in his mind for a long moment, but didn't seem too convinced.

"But you're a fugitive," he reminded her. "You're not close to the FBI right now."

"Yes, but I think I can clear my name." She stood, crossing the room to find the files she and Mozzie had gathered over the past several days, and pulling out the call transcript she'd pieced back together in prison. "I need to talk to Peter."

"As I already said, he turned on you. What makes you think he'll listen now, after you escaped in front of him?"

She paused for a moment. _I'm not sure he will…_ "When I jumped, he didn't try and stop me from running. He just stood there… kind of smirking." She shook her head, still unsure what to make of that interaction. "But I think this will do it," she explained, handing Mozzie the paper. "If I can show him this, I think he'll believe me."

"He wasn't willing to believe you before. Why would this convince him?"

"Because, this directly involves him. Someone was spying on him, someone in the Bureau. He won't stand for that."

Mozzie sighed, realizing there was no way he was going to talk her out of it. "And how do you plan to show him? You can't exactly walk into the FBI like it's a normal day of work."

She considered this for a moment. "I need a phone."

"There's a payphone down the block," Mozzie told her. She grabbed a black coat out of her bag and a handful of change, and headed for the door. "Who are you calling?"

"Someone who likes to believe the best in everyone," she said vaguely. It wasn't hard to find the phone. On her first attempt, no one answered. She ran over what she knew of the person's schedule. _Probably at work._ She dialed another number. It only rang a couple times.

"This is Yvonne."

"Hi," Nora said sweetly. "Is Elizabeth Burke available?"

"It's for you," she heard faintly over the line.

"On your personal phone?" Elizabeth's voice asked softly.

"Yeah."

"Burke Premiere Events," Elizabeth's chipper voice said, now crisp and clear, "this is Elizabeth."

"Sorry to bother you at work," Nora apologized.

"Nora?" She hesitated for a moment. "Uh, I'll catch up with you guys." Nora waited a moment. Elizabeth dropped her voice low. "How did you get this number…? Stupid question," she allowed before Nora had the chance to respond.

"You know," she continued, "half the law enforcement in North America is looking for you right now, including my husband."

"He'll find me soon enough," Nora sighed. "I need your help."

She was quiet for a long moment. "Peter told me you said you were framed."

"I was. I have proof, I just need to talk to Peter – alone – to show him."

"What do you need?"

Nora smiled a little. Elizabeth was always so kind and helpful, trusting even when she had every reason not to be. "Before you agree, you need to know that helping me is very illegal. If you say no, I get it. No hard feelings."

"What do you need, Nora?"

"They have agents sitting on your house," Nora explained. "All I need you to do is unlock your back door and go distract them while I sneak around back. I'll watch the yard. Let Satchmo out, that will be the signal. I'll count to one hundred, so make sure you're outside with the agents by that time, then give me two minutes. Assuming Peter doesn't arrest me on the spot, no one will ever know you helped me."

Again, Elizabeth was silent for a while. Nora bit her lip. Waiting. "Okay. I can do that."

"Thank you, Elizabeth."

"He wanted to believe you, you know," she said suddenly, surprising Nora. "He really did. But, you know how he his. The evidence said you were guilty."

"I know," she sighed.

* * *

Nora watched as Elizabeth got home. She'd chosen dark pants and a black top, covered by a leather jacket she seldom got a chance to wear as it wasn't exactly business attire. She waited for the signal. Soon enough, Elizabeth let Satchmo out into the yard. She cast a glance around, as if trying to spot Nora, before shutting the door.

Nora waited, counting silently before making her move. Satch ran up to her excitedly, wanting ear scratches, but she didn't have time for that. As Elizabeth had agreed, the door was unlocked. Nora stayed out of sight of the window as she slipped in and went into the kitchen.

Elizabeth returned shortly after, carrying an empty plate. "Any trouble?" Nora asked.

"No," Elizabeth assured her, setting the plate down. "So, if you don't mind me asking, what's this evidence you have that you were set up?"

Nora explained quickly, showing her the paper she'd pieced together. It didn't take much to convinced the too-trusting Elizabeth. _Good thing I'm not actually lying_.

"Have you eaten?" Elizabeth asked suddenly.

"Not really," she admitted.

"You must be starving." Elizabeth bustled about, despite Nora's protests, and made her a sandwich. It was, thankfully, deviled ham-free. Nora ate it gratefully.

"Oh, while I'm thinking about it, can I see your home phone?" Elizabeth was confused, but brought her the phone. She protested as Nora opened the casing, but didn't stop her. Nora's stomach sank when she saw the inside. _Just like I thought. _

Nora brushed off Elizabeth's questions, and redirected the conversation to more lighthearted topics. They chatted while they waited. It was dark by the time Peter came home. Nora fell silent, and Elizabeth rushed out to greet him.

* * *

"Hey." Elizabeth came out of the kitchen, eyes full of concern.

"Hey," he returned heavily, sitting his case down and taking his jacket off.

"You okay?"

He sighed. "Agh, still haven't found Nora. We got a detail outside." He peeked out the window to the car sitting on the street. One of the agents offered a lazy wave.

"Yeah, I saw."

"As if she'd be careless enough to come here." El didn't reply. She pursed her lips, eyes cast off to the side. _Well, that doesn't look guilty as hell_. He glanced over at the kitchen, just making out a faint movement behind the frosted glass. He put his hands on his hips, fixing El with a firm look. "Where do you think she _did_ go, El?" Still no answer. She just stared at him with wide blue eyes. "Is she in the kitchen?"

She nodded, horrible poker face crumbling. Peter nodded. _Of course she's reckless enough to come here_. "Nora," he hissed.

She pushed the door ajar and peeked out. "Peter," she said slowly, raising her hands in front of her. He started to motion her over, but remembered they were being watched, and saved it by scratching his neck.

She moved gracefully, ducking behind the pillar. "All the places you could run, you go to my wife?" His voice was barely over a whisper. He didn't look in her direction, acting as if he was speaking to El for the sake of the agents out front.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," she protested softly.

He rounded back on El. "You helped her sneak in?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't have had to sneak her in if there weren't these people sitting at our house."

He sighed in frustration. _These two are going to be the death of me_, he decided. "You lied to the FBI," he scolded.

"Honey, I did not lie to the FBI," she assured him. She glanced over at Nora. "There was just a lot of milk and cookies and pleasant, distracting conversation while Nora slipped around back." Nora had probably fed Elizabeth that line. _Lying by omission is her specialty._

"I love this," he scoffed. "You've turned my wife into an accomplice."

"Give me one minute to explain," Nora plead.

Peter glanced between the two of them. Elizabeth flashed her puppy dog eyes, holding up a finger. "One minute," she mouthed before reaching up to give him a peck on the lips. Elizabeth returned to the kitchen, offering Nora an encouraging smile as she went. Peter was powerless against his wife's puppy dog eyes, and she knew it.


	69. One Minute

Chapter Sixty-Nine

One Minute

Peter didn't arrest her on the spot, so things were definitely off to a good start. Elizabeth disappeared into the kitchen, and Peter gave Nora a stern look. "One minute," he hissed. "You explain what you were thinking when you did a free fall from the judge's chambers while I decide if I drag you back in chains." He pulled a random book off the bookshelf and began absently flipping through it.

"Does that minute start now?"

"Go."

She spoke quickly, knowing Peter was gravely serious. As she spoke, she counted the seconds in her head. "Okay. I told you I was set up by someone very close to you. I couldn't tell you who at first because I thought it was somebody in the FBI. Now, I'm _positive_ it's Fowler."

"Fowler? That's not-"

"I've got fifty-two seconds left," she snapped. "I had a little free time on my hands the past few days, so I've been putting this together." She pulled the paper out of her jacket pocket and slipped it over top Peter's book. "They're documents Fowler shredded after I requested access to my files."

Peter's eyes raked over the paper, brow furrowed. "I made that call from my home," he muttered.

"Yup."

He was in disbelief. "My God, they tapped the phone."

"No," she corrected, "they didn't tap it. That would require a court order. Look at your phone." She motioned to the table where Elizabeth had returned it after Nora took a peek inside. His eyes grew wide when he saw it, and he went over to examine it. "It's a bug. Standard bureau issue. Activates when you pick it up."

"They've been inside my house." His voice was tight. Like Nora had guessed, Peter had become more inclined to listen when the evidence started showing how Fowler was using Peter to get to Nora.

He threw the book and the paper down on the table, and started pacing, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. The last thing they needed was for the agents outside to get suspicious and come barging in. Peter shook his head. "They couldn't have had authorization. Not within the window of the crime and his suspicion of you."

"Exactly," Nora hissed. "Fowler is dirty. Peter, I have access to every file the bureau has on me. You had Jones process a request to look at my initials on the bond forgery. After you checked the forgery to see if I was telling the truth, one other person checked it too."

"Fowler."

"Then my initials just happened to appear on the pink diamond." Peter didn't say anything, mind running over all the details that were suddenly falling into place in the big picture. "He's using you to get to me." She sighed. "My minute's up."

Peter didn't arrest her. Instead, he pulled out all his files and spread them out over the coffee table. Nora sat on the floor, back leaned up against the pillar. He poured himself a strong drink and began going over the case anew. They were silent for a long time, but the urge to fill the silence started pressing on her.

"I said I'd give a full confession," she said, "so here it is." Peter glanced at her from the side of his eye, not sure what to expect. "I've been trying to find Kyle."

He smirked. "Am I supposed to look surprised?

"Maybe." She drew in a deep breath. "I talked to him, Peter." He did look a little surprised to hear that, but said nothing. She pulled the two halves of the photo out of her jacket pocket, offering up the side that had Kyle on it.

"I'm familiar with this photo," he reminded her.

"But you haven't seen all of it." She handed him the second half. His brow furrowed as he put the two halves together. "He's being held by someone. He's too scared to say who, but after our Chinatown operation, Interpol told me the man who has Kyle is with the FBI."

"You think it's Fowler," Peter concluded.

"I do now."

Peter regarded her evenly. "What does he want from you?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "It could be anything."

"Like what?" he probed.

She laughed, despite the situation. "No," she decided. "No, you'd have to arrest me."

"I should be arresting you now," he reminded her.

"But you're not."

"So give him what he wants." As if it was that simple. _I don't even know what he wants_.

"If I do," she protested, "there's no guarantee I'll ever see him again." Peter sighed in exasperation, flipping his file closed. "We need to look into Fowler."

"You're asking me to investigate OPR," he said flatly. "That's suicide."

"He's already investigating you."

He was silent for a moment, staring blankly ahead as he considered it. "We'd have to go behind the bureau's back."

She smirked. "Not if you clear me first. It's what you do for a living, right?" He smiled. "Alright," she laughed, pushing herself to her feet. "I'll be in touch." She pulled a burner phone out of her pocket. "This is untraceable, but if for any reason, you need to get in touch with me-"

He took it. "Don't say another word. I don't wanna know where you're going."

"Plausible deniability?"

"Words to live by."

She sighed. "Peter..." He just smiled, nodding. He motioned for the door. With a glance over her shoulder toward the window, Nora slipped out the back door. It would be easier getting out, since night had fallen, than it had been getting in.

* * *

Peter had a lot to think about that night, after Nora left. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to arrest her. She was a fugitive. It was his job. But, against his better judgment, he'd decided to hear what she had to say. The evidence she'd given him had been her saving grace. The thought of Fowler spying on him set his blood boiling.

After a restless night, too worked up to sleep well, Peter arrived at the office early the next morning. He walked up to Jones' desk as the agent got off a phone call. "What's the latest?"

"We got conflicting intel," Jones explained. "I mean, we got reports of Caffrey sighted everywhere from Jersey to Geneva."

"She's covering all her bases," Peter mused.

"Nah, she stole them right off the field," Jones amended.

Their conversation was interrupted by Fowler coming up behind Peter. "You got a quick minute?"

"Yeah." Peter's blood started boiling all over again at the sight of him, but he forced himself to remain calm. _Can't show my hand yet_.

Fowler hesitated. "I just wanted to apologize about the other day, you know? I mean, we all want what's best for the bureau, right?"

"Of course," Peter allowed.

"Hey, let me ask you a question. Just hypothetically." Peter raised an eyebrow. "If you had to guess _right now_: where's Caffrey?" _Holed up in a safe house somewhere in the city_, Peter decided.

Peter sucked in a breath, pretending to consider the question. "Probably trying to leave the country," he lied, "if she hasn't already."

That seemed to surprise Fowler. "Oh, you don't think she'd stay in Manhattan?"

"Would there be a reason to?" Peter counted pointedly. _Like, you having Kyle to hang over her head_?

"I don't know," Fowler dodged loftily. "Just wanna make sure we're using our resources as wisely as possible."

"Like I said, roadblocks and wanted posters." Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Jones stifle a laugh.

"That's how we're gonna catch her, huh?"

"It's a good start," Peter lied. "Now, if you don't mind, I've gotta get back to work."

"Oh, yeah," he allowed, and Peter leaned on Jones' desk to continue their conversation. Fowler didn't move. The two agent's turned to look at him pointedly. He glanced between them briefly, and went back the way he'd come.

Peter waited until he was sure Fowler was out of earshot before speaking. "Do me a favor," he whispered.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Keep an eye on this Fowler guy and his goons."

"I'm allowed to do that?" he asked with a note of excitement.

"I'm authorizing you to." He shook his head. "Something isn't right." Peter headed toward the elevator. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fowler's man start casually heading that way too. Peter watched as Jones intercepted him, distracting him just long enough for Peter to slip out of sight and head for the stairs.

Peter caught the elevator a few floors down. Once at the bottom, he made sure the goon was nowhere to be seen and slipped out a side door. Outside, he pulled out the burner phone Nora had given him and found her number in the speed dial list.

She answered on the first ring. "Meet me at our jewelry store in twenty minutes."

"I didn't think I was supposed to return to the scene of the crime," she teased.

"Let's revisit it and figure out how you allegedly pulled this all off."


	70. The Scene of the Crime

Chapter Seventy

The Scene of the Crime

One good thing about being on the run, Nora decided, was that she didn't feel the need to limit her wardrobe due to the unsightly anklet. She chose a dark gray pencil skirt that stopped just above her knee and a black turtle neck. She pulled her hair up in a bun, and covered it was a stylish black sunhat. Her face was obscured by a pair of large, black sunglasses. No one was going to recognize her at a glance, and she was hardly dressed out of place in New York.

She waited outside of Le Joyau Precieux, leaning up against a tree and reading a copy of the New York Ledger. Her mugshot was plastered on the front, the headline reading 'Felon Falls to Freedom.' She regarded it with disdain. The angle of the picture made her look like she had a double chin, and the camera had certainly added at least ten pounds. The overall effect was… not flattering.

"Nice disguise," Peter teased, coming to a stop in front of her.

She flipped the paper around, showing off the mugshot. "You could of at least given the press a better photo of me," she said dryly.

He smirked. "Oh, it's pretty good for a mugshot."

She took a second look at it. "Well, it's better than my driver's license photo," she allowed.

"Which one? You have several." She smirked. "Alright, one crime at a time." He gestured toward the store. "I wanna check out that vault."

"Yeah, well I can't exactly walk in," she reminded him, holding up the paper again for emphasis.

He had already considered that. "I'm gonna tell them you're in my custody and that you're gonna show me how you got into the vault."

"Stealthy," she admired. "Peter, I'm starting to like you again."

"Well, we're hanging out too much," he scoffed. She followed him into the store. It didn't take Peter long to convince the manager to let them into the vault. They crossed the bright yellow 'crime scene' tape and started looking around.

"We assumed the thief went through blind spots of the surveillance camera," he recapped, "but Forensics says that the alarm was never tampered with."

That didn't add up. "Well, that's not possible, unless he-"

Peter finished her thought. "He never left the vault." They got to work, scanning over every inch of the vault for any way the thief could have gotten out without leaving the vault.

Nora's eyes caught on a light panel on the wall. "This wasn't flickering on the security tape," she noted.

Peter moved to examine it. "No, it wasn't," he agreed. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, and Nora checked out the door to make sure no one was going to walk in on them. "Come on," he hissed as he jammed a key under the panel, prying it off the wall. "Nothing," he sighed.

"It could be a misdirect." She looked around to the other panel. "Here." She held out her hand for the keys, and Peter tossed them over. The panel gave easily.

"Oh-ho." Peter bent to examine a seam in the drywall. A seam that hadn't been behind the other panel, where someone replaced a piece that had been cut out. He dug his nails under it, popping it off with ease. There was a brick wall on the other side. The mortar between the bricks was new, not quite set.

"How did the FBI miss this?" she chided.

"_We_ didn't," he protested. "Fowler had OPR take over the investigation." Peter took a step back and kicked at the bricks with the heel of his foot, grunting with the effort. With a couple kicks, the wall broke apart, and the pair of them climbed through.

They found themselves in a dank, dark tunnel. "I'll be… this is an old Prohibition tunnel," Peter mused.

"Yeah, well, someone found a new use for it."

"Yeah." They headed up the stairs. Peter pushed open the hatch at the top, and they came out on the street once more, back to light and fresh air. He climbed out first. Once at the top, he took Nora's wrist and helped her up. She dusted herself off.

"I'll call in a team," he decided, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "We'll start canvasing for witnesses." Nora studied the street.

"We may not have to." She pointed up. Right above the tunnel, there was a security camera.

"Oh, who said Big Brother's a bad thing?" Peter joked, holding the phone up to his ear. "Jones. I'm gonna need you to pull a video off a surveillance camera."

* * *

Peter sent Nora off wherever she'd been hiding while he waited for Jones to get the video, with a promise to call her once he had it. It took a few hours. She snuck back into his house later that evening. The security detail was gone; Peter had made sure of that. Nora checked out the window anyway, paranoid.

"Where's OPR?" she asked while Peter got the video pulled up on his laptop

"I had Jones reassign them to Penn Station."

"Jones?" she asked, bemused. "How did he do that?"

"He does a pretty good Fowler." He focused on the computer. "Alright, we're coming up to the place where our masked man entered the vault." She turned around, leaning over the back of the couch. Her hair dangled down, tickling the back of Peter's neck.

"How did anyone think that was me?" she mused.

He shrugged. "On camera, it's hard to tell."

"Our masked man doesn't have my figure," she said dryly.

"Says the woman who disguised herself as a man to escape prison." She rolled her eyes.

She returned her attention to the matter at had. "Add a few minutes for him to double back, cover tracks." He sped up the video. The door to the tunnel opened again. "Wait, wait, wait. Hold it right there." He slowed down the video. "Is that Tulane?"

She came around the couch, sitting next to him and leaning in close to the screen. "Alright," she said, "play it at half speed." _Since when are you the boss_? He did as she asked anyway.

"That's gotta be Tulane," Peter agreed. "Come on, come on, turn around." A beautiful woman passed by on the video. Slowly, they watched their man spin around to look as she passed. Sure enough, it was Tulane. "Gotcha." Peter paused the video. "Oh, I guess he never did go to Madrid."

"I knew his plane tickets were fakes," she boasted.

Peter gave her a withering look. "No, you didn't." She didn't argue. "Guy steals three-point-two million dollars in diamonds, and we get him because he can't resist a pretty face."

She laughed. "Well, it happens to the best of us." He looked at her pointedly. "What?"

"You know what."

"No, I don't," she argued. It wasn't very convincing.

"Yes, you do." _It was exactly how I caught you the first time_.


	71. Mentor

Chapter Seventy-One

Mentor

Peter pulled Tulane into the FBI the next morning and had Jones get a hold of Fowler. _Don't want him to miss the show, after all_. He interrogated Tulane while he waited for Fowler to join them.

"How did you know which vault the diamond would be in?" The man said nothing. "Silence won't help you, but maybe I can." Tulane scoffed. "Tell me everything, and I can talk to the prosecutor about immunity."

"Why would you give me immunity?"

"Believe it or not, I don't think you're the brains behind this operation," Peter admitted.

Tulane laughed. "Playing on my vanity? Please, you have some video that proves nothing."

Peter nodded and pulled Tulane's bag off the floor. "Search warrant helped us find this in a town house of one of your puzzle girls." Tulane swallowed hard. Peter pulled the necklace out of the bag and laid it gently on the table. "I think that proves something."

"Well, if you're asking for my expertise," Tulane said, "I can tell you that a crime like this often has a benefactor. The entire operation, from delivery route to exit strategy, is handed to someone."

"Tell me something I don't know."

Tulane leaned forward. "Men with privileged information often hire people with certain skills to do what they can't." He leaned back again, offering a broad shrug. "Of course, all of this is just hypothetical."

"This conversation is not hypothetical," Peter protested. "Immunity for a name."

Fowler walked in slowly, watching in silence. Tulane simply chuckled, glancing between the two men. "Oh, is he the prosecutor?"

"Immunity for a name," Peter growled.

Tulane leaned forward again. "I would if I could." Peter narrowed his eyes as Tulane looked up at Fowler. "The more I learn, the more I think this whole case is a setup."

"Lot of that seems to be going around," Peter mused. There was no point continuing, he wasn't getting a name. They had enough to clear Nora's name and put Tulane away. OPR started to clear out, now that the culprit was in custody.

Peter watched as they led Tulane into the elevator. Fowler made his way over, and Peter held the door for him. "Make a little room," he said.

Fowler stopped in front of him, and Peter turned to face him, meeting his eyes evenly. He pulled the bug out of his pocket and held it up. "I found this stuck on my home phone." Fowler glared at him. "Thought you might have dropped it." He slipped it into Fowler's breast pocket.

Fowler's lips were turned up in a sneer. "I'm not done with this investigation, Burke."

"Neither am I." Fowler pushed past him, into the elevator. Neither one blinked until the door slid closed. _This is far from over_.

* * *

Now officially cleared of all charges – and ignoring her brief stint on the run – Peter called to give Nora the good news. He said they needed her to come in and give a final statement to wrap up the case. And, of course, get her a new anklet. _Heaven forbid they forget about that_.

To her surprise, she was greeted by the team and a bottle of champagne when she entered the conference room. "I thought," Peter said, popping the bottle open, "that a small celebration would be appropriate." He started pouring the champagne into paper cups.

"You really shouldn't drink champagne out of paper," she scolded him.

"You will and you'll like it." She didn't argue, smiling faintly. Lauren and Jones helped themselves. "It's two-fold, really," Peter continued.

"Two-fold?" She grabbed a cup.

"Yeah, you're off the hook," Lauren explained with a smirk.

"Mm-hmm," Peter agreed, "and our jobs are a lot easier when you run _with _us, not _from_ us." He held up his cup as a toast.

"Hear, hear!" Jones agreed.

"I'll drink to that," Nora allowed, lifting her own cup. They tapped their paper cups together and each took a swig. "What about OPR?"

"They're gone... for now," Peter said. _But they'll be back_, she finished silently.

"Celebrate the victories," she decided, "however long they last."

"I'll drink to that," Peter agreed, lifting his cup again. They took another swig.

A clerk stopped in the doorway. "Miss Caffrey," she said, catching their attention. "There's a call for you on line two." She smiled and headed back for her desk.

"Ooh, Miss Caffrey, call on line two," Peter teased.

"That's probably my lawyer," she decided. Her cellphone was down on her desk. He'd probably been trying to get a hold of her for a while.

"You should put him on retainer," Peter advised.

Nora smirked. "I'll expense it. Can I use your phone?"

He laughed. "Go ahead."

She made her way into his office, the jokes of the team dying behind her as she got out of earshot. She sat down her cup and picked up the phone, taking the call on line two. "Mozzie, I told you, just sign the papers for me," she snapped.

"Nora?" a familiar, and not-Mozzie voice said quietly. "It's me."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Kyle."

"He's close to you, Nora," he said flatly.

"Look, I know who he is," she insisted. "He's with the FBI."

"Yes. Just give him what he wants."

"What does he want?"

"I..." He hesitated.

"Tell me, Kyle," she hissed, voice low so the others wouldn't hear. "Kyle!"

"You can't trust anyone."

"Kyle?" The line clicked dead. She leaned on Peter's desk, mind racing. Nora sighed in frustration, threw back the rest of the champagne, and straightened herself up. Back in the conference room, she excused herself, feigning fatigue. Peter nodded, probably feeling about the same way. He had Jones fetch the new anklet before they disbanded for the night. With it snugly back in place, a ball-and-chain keeping her tethered once more, Nora rushed home.

She slammed the door when she got there. Unsurprisingly, Mozzie was on her couch. "Oh, hey," he greeted, not noticing her sour mood. "I'm just going through these FBI files." She huffed, crossing her arms impatiently as he launched into his conspiracy theory spiel. "There is a terrifying amount of information here. How many shots from the knoll? Let's take a look. Did Elvis fake his own death? Ask the mystery box." He paused, grinning up at her and finally seeing the look on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Kyle called me."

His eyes grew wide. "And?"

"And I can't help him," she hissed, practically stomping her feet in frustration, like a child. "He won't tell me where he is."

Mozzie held up a finger. "I have a theory."

"Conspiracy?" she guessed.

"Of course." He held up a sheet of paper as she joined him next to the couch. "Look at this. Fowler's ID number. Over here, a local address. Note the dates."

"This is from before the diamond heist."

"Yeah. It's a hotel room." Her brow furrowed. "It's not linked to any operation I can find. Now, if I was inclined to believe in such things, I'd say it's worth a look. Room five-twenty-five." The address was within her two miles.

"Thanks, Moz," she breathed, rushing back toward the door. _Kyle, I'm coming_.

Nora practically ran to the address Mozzie had given her. She ignored the lobby staff's odd looks as she bolted toward the elevator. The wait on the way up was agonizingly slow. The doors had barely started to slide open as she slipped out, pushing past a couple who waited to get in. "Hey!" one of them protested. She ignored them.

_Five-twenty-five_, she repeated in her mind, scanning the room numbers. _Where are you_? She found her door and started pounding on it desperately. "Open the door, Fowler," she demanded. "Kyle!"

The door opened to reveal a group of very confused agents. She elbowed past the one who'd opened the door. Fowler rounded the corner. "What are you doing here, Caffrey?"

She looked around, confused. Half a dozen agents stood, alarmed and confused by the sudden intrusion, with no sign of Kyle. "What's going on?"

"Who told you about this, huh? How do you know about Mentor?"

"Mentor?" It was the first she was hearing of it.

Fowler shrugged broadly, eyeing her with contempt. "What do you think is going on here, huh? You're busting my operation, here."

It didn't make sense. The room wasn't connected to any operations. "No," she muttered, not believing it. "No, where is Kyle?" She pushed past him, farther into the room. "Kyle? Kyle!"

"Kyle?" Fowler asked, playing dumb. "Kyle _Moreau_?" He looked at Nora as if she'd gone insane. "There's no Kyle here, Nora." Nora panted, trying desperately to understand what was going on. "Kyle?" he called, mocking her. "You're losing it."

Nora swallowed hard. She stepped up to him. Under different circumstance, it might have been comical, seeing such a small, petite woman looking up at him with fury in her eyes, jabbing a finger accusingly toward his chest. "You were watching me," she spat. "Before the jewelry heist."

Fowler scoffed down at her. "I'm not in New York looking at you, Nora."

"That's a lie! You recorded my phone calls."

He smirked. "No, I didn't bug your phone, Nora." The light bulb clicked on in her head. _Peter_. Was it really about him, not Nora? Was Peter...? _No. Not him... It can't be._

* * *

Peter sat in darkness. This had been a long time coming. This needed to happen. _For Nora's own good_, he reminded himself.

The door opened, light from the hallways spilling in and outlining a figure in the doorway. Peter clicked on the lamp, and the figure froze, still just a silhouette. Peter didn't have to see him to know who it was.

"Hello, Kyle."

"Hello, Peter." His voice was somewhat deep and silky smooth. Kyle reached for the light switch. The familiar young man came into view. Round, boyish face. Chocolate colored hair, cropped short on the sides, with a long wave on top. Wide blue eyes, now watching Peter with suspicion.

Peter was silent for a moment, studying him. Kyle met his eyes evenly. "We need to talk about Nora."

He sighed, turning to close the door behind him. "I guess we do." Peter didn't flinch as Kyle pulled a gun from his waistband, spinning back around and pointing it directly at him. He hadn't been expecting it, but he found he wasn't too surprised.

"Kyle, put the gun on the table," he said calmly. Kyle didn't move. Instead, his eyes glanced down to Peter's hand. He wore a very familiar ring, and Kyle's eyes flashed with recognition. Peter held up his hand, examining the ring idly. "You recognize this? Yeah, I've got one too. Just like Fowler."

"Who?" It wasn't very convincing.

Peter smirked. "Shoot me, or put the gun on the table." Kyle sighed, and slowly lowered the gun. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, still eyeing Peter with suspicion.

"It's been a while," he noted.

"Five years," Peter agreed. "First time I caught Nora."

"What do you want?" he huffed, having enough of the small talk.

Peter fixed him with a firm gaze. "Leave Nora alone."

Kyle shook his head, lips pursed tight together. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" Peter asked, cocking his head to the side. Kyle's lower lip was trembling, just slightly, and his breaths were shaky, nervous. "What does Nora have that you so desperately want?" He didn't answer, just regarded Peter coolly, trying to decide how much to say. "I can get it for you."

Kyle's eyes narrowed. "Why would you do that?"

"Why? Because she's good. Because she's one of the smartest people I've ever met. And I'm tired of watching you twist her heart around." Peter couldn't help the venom that laced his words near the end. Kyle cast his eyes down to the floor, unable to meet Peter's. "She's my friend. Let her go."

Kyle took a breath. "Nora stole a piece."

"She's stolen a lot of things," Peter reminded him.

"This one is special. It's a music box." Peter narrowed his eyes. _All this, over a music box_, he thought. His blood boiled. _You've been tormenting her for months over a God damned music box_? "That's my price."

Peter stood, and Kyle shifted away, watching Peter with wary eyes as Peter started for the door. He paused, standing eye to eye with Kyle. "Did you ever love her?" Kyle didn't answer, just met Peter's eyes blankly. Peter sighed, nodding. _Didn't think so_. "Tell Fowler I know. And I'm not backing off."

He started for the door again. "Peter," Kyle said, stopping him in his tracks. He glanced back again, eyebrow raised. "Don't push him."

Peter grinned, and Kyle turned away again. _Don't push him_, Peter thought as he shut the door behind him. _Kid, I'm going to do a hell of a lot more than push him, I can promise you that_.

**End of Part One**

Credit song:

_Bulletproof Weeks_ \- Matt Nathanson

* * *

_Author's Note: I didn't know how long this was going to be, all said and done, when I first started writing it. I especially didn't realize I was going to write almost 120,000 words in three months. Thanks so much for sticking around for so long. This has been such a fun little project!_

_A little explanation for the credit song thing: while I was writing the story, I made a playlist of songs I thought fit the themes, story lines, or tone of the show. While writing the last chapter, I put Bulletproof Weeks on repeat, because I thought it fit the tone of the ending. I tacked the lyrics on my document, but using song lyrics are prohibited by the guidelines. So, I put the name of the song as a credit song. Check it out if you're interested._

_Gonna take a little break before coming back with part two, starting with Hard Sell, and going through to the end of season one. Thanks again for reading!_

_-Selkie_


End file.
